Clothe Me in Seasons, Dress Me in Snow
by sadladybug
Summary: "It is not the memorial she deserves, nor the one she would want. But it can't be helped. He owns no property in the other nations, and he needed to keep her close. Closer than she was in life, anyway." Zuko's reflections on a life lived and a life that could have been. Told in four parts. For Zutara Week 2014.
1. Melancholy

"Sir, I hope you don't think me too forward, but are you sure you won't take the Satomobile?"

Zuko finishes securing his hair in its topknot before giving his head attendant a sidelong glance. "Since when have you ever been worried about being too forward?"

"You know I wouldn't dream of it, my lord." The man keeps his mouth in a thin line as he helps tie the sash around Zuko's waist. "But you and I both know you are…"

Zuko shoots him a look and dares him to say it. "I'm what?"

His attendant's face gives away nothing. Not for the first time, it occurs to Zuko that his people are spectacular at this game; if he didn't know better he would think that politicking was a genetic trait that passed through the citizens of the Fire Nation in equal measure with pale skin and dark hair. His attendant clears his throat lightly but maintains a level gaze.

"…a precious national resource."

The moment stretches out as the two men regard each other. Zuko's face cracks first, the corners of his mouth quirk into a smile. "Go on. You were going to say 'old' weren't you?"

His attendant's eyes sparkle though his facial expression remains blank. "Nonsense. Age is simply a number. May all men hope to enjoy robust health as for long as you have."

Zuko chuckles. "I knew it."

Zuko straightens his tunic and adjusts the sleeves. His clothes may still be made from fine tailored silk, but they are much less fussy than the heavy formal robes he donned for decades. His head is less encumbered as well; he finds that he does not miss the weight of the crown that used to rest there. Not anymore, at least.

"My concern is only for your safety, sir. You can't be too careful these days."

Zuko turns and checks himself in the mirror. With his curved posture and wrinkled-carved face, he might pass for any other elderly tourist, just another retiree escaping from the long winter to enjoy warmer temperatures. Except for one thing. No matter where he goes, he's never just another tourist. The scar that blazes across his face announces his legacy from a distance, especially when he travels within his own country. There may have been a time when people here did not recognize him, but those days are long gone. He stands a little taller, tries to channel a little of the pride of his youth.

"I think I can handle myself."

His attendant hovers into view behind him. "Of course. But it _is_ a long walk. One of the men can drive you, if you prefer."

It's no secret among the staff that Zuko doesn't care to drive. What they don't know is that it's because he's not very good at it. To this day he could detail the workings of a steam ship or a war balloon, but there was something about the shifting and steering of a simple Satomobile that made him feel as uncoordinated as he was in his youth trying to execute his first kick. He really _was_ getting old. But today that was beside the point. "No thank you. It's a beautiful day. I prefer to walk."

His attendant clicks his tongue. "If you insist. You might at least take a guard with you."

Zuko shakes his head. "No. This is something that I must do alone. You should know that by now."

He sighs. "Yes, my lord. We'll be waiting for you when you return home, then. Have a safe journey."

Zuko nods and makes his way down the stairs, keeping one hand on the thick wooden bannister. The staff in the foyer bows and provides him with his shoes. He thanks them before pulling open the door. The smell of salt and the sound of the tides greet him. He inhales deeply and starts his journey down the long path toward town.

* * *

_Spring– post war_

Tea cups rattle on the shelves as he pulls open one of the many cabinets in the back room of the Jasmine Dragon. What had Uncle said? Was it the gray cups with the white trim? Or the white cups with the gray trim? The ones with gray and white stripes? The fact that he is faced with all of these options (plus many, many more) is at once stunning and unsurprising. Uncle had apparently taken no time in updating and expanding his collection of tea sets after the war was won. He can't help but wonder just how many of these were for customers and how many were for personal use. He pushes air past his teeth and reaches for the white with gray trim. They would have to do.

As he starts to collect the cups on the counter, he hears the soft creak of the lanai out front followed by the groan of the heavy door. He frowns. Uncle shouldn't be back from the market yet.

He yells over his shoulder. "I'm sorry, but we're closed today. You'll have to come back tomorrow."

"Zuko? Is that you?"

_Katara. _He calls out to her_. _"In the back!"

She appears in the doorway a moment later. She looks… different. He hasn't seen her since she left the capital months ago. Is she taller? No… maybe. But that can't be it. Maybe it's her hair, which falls in loose cascades over her shoulders and seems to gleam in the soft light of the tea shop. No, that isn't it either; she'd worn it that way during the war. Perhaps it's the simple yet elegant robes that hug her figure and trail the floor. He's never seen her in green. That must be it. The color is throwing him off.

He realizes that he is staring, and quickly turns back to his task. "Hi, Katara."

He can tell that she doesn't know quite how to greet him. He'd seen her welcome her friends in the past, pulling them into fierce hugs garnished with toothy grins. He can sense that she wants to follow that natural impulse but holds back. She compromises by providing that enthusiastic smile but stopping a few paces away. "Hey. Am I early?"

"A little. But that's okay." He looks past her, expecting an entourage. No one is there. "Is it just you?"

She shrugs. "The others will be along soon. Aang took everyone to the zoo this morning."

He can't help but think of the smell of the rhino pens on the ship, or an unwashed Appa, and struggles to understand the appeal. But he nods and continues pulling cups out of the cabinet. "You didn't want to go?"

"I did, but I decided I wanted to sleep in more. We stayed up way too late at the Earth King's coronation celebration last night." She leans casually against the counter. "We looked for you, but Iroh said you and Mai left pretty early."

"Mai and I wanted to go to bed. Go to sleep, I mean! It was a long day. We were tired. " He clears his throat and concentrates harder on the cup in his hands, not sure why he suddenly feels embarrassed. But Katara either didn't catch his meaning or didn't want to. When she speaks her voice is teasing.

"I believe it. How many times did she nudge you awake during the coronation? Three?"

Inwardly he cringes; he had hoped no one else had noticed. He was never that lucky. "I'll have you know that I had quite a long journey. Not to mention that I've been busy running a country for the last few months. It's not my fault the ceremony lasted four hours!" He pauses and quirks an eyebrow at her. "Wait. Were you_ watching_ me?"

"N-No!" She sputters. "Aang noticed first and then Toph and Sokka started taking bets. You cost Sokka three silver pieces; he thought you were going to fall out of your chair for sure."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Great…" He can already imagine the lecture he will get from Uncle.

Katara just laughs. "Don't worry, you weren't the only one. It _was _really boring. Yours was much better."

He bites back a retort – _of course it was_ – and mumbles his thanks instead. An awkward silence bubbles up, punctured only by the clinking of porcelain.

"So… is Iroh here?"

"No. He went to the market. He said he was running low on his favorite type of ginseng."

"Sounds about right. Mai?"

"Shopping."

Her eyes go wide. "Mai likes to shop?"

He gives her a sheepish look. "…No. But as thanks for keeping me awake yesterday I sent her down to a store nearby that specializes in senbon."

She smiles at him. "That was nice of you."

He snorts. "More like the least I could do. She hates those events as much as I do."

Katara screws up her face. "But you guys were born into all that stuff. Aren't you used to it by now?"

He finishes putting the cups on the tray and starts reaching in the back for the saucers. "Being born into it and enjoying it are two different things."

She considers this. "I suppose you're right." She watches him stack the plates. "Do you need any help?"

He shakes his head. "No. I've got it."

Another beat of silence. From the corner of his eye he can see Katara twirling a lock of hair around one finger. It's a strange behavior for her; she is never coy. Not with him at least. "So…Iroh told us you'd be serving us tea today. Is that true?"

His suspicions are piqued with the odd tone of her voice. "…Yes. Uncle asked me to."

"Hmm. So I guess that means you'll be our tea server for today."

He frowns. "Yes. I just said that."

Her eyes sparkle like a dragon-hawk narrowing in on a gecko-rat. Her voice is teasing. "Well then, where's your uniform?"

"…My uniform?" He looks down at his brown robes and is utterly confused. "You mean my regalia? Why would I wear that today?"

She rolls her eyes. "No, I mean your _uniform_. For serving tea."

He scowls at her. If this was a joke he was not amused. "I'm the Fire Lord, not an employee."

She shrugs dramatically. "Sorry, your highness. I just thought since you had one last time, you might put it on for old time's sake."

He narrows his eyes. "How would you know anything about it?"

She crosses her arms and her smile is triumphant. "Don't try to deny it, teabender. I saw it with my own eyes. You were standing right out there and – "

The stack of plates slips from his hands and clatters loudly on the countertop. "You _saw_ us?" He ignores the plates and turns to face her. "When?"

Her smirk melts away and her victorious attitude vanishes. "Oh. Yeah. Back when we were all living here. But I, uh, didn't exactly stay for tea."

He isn't sure if he should laugh or wince. "How did you find us?"

"It was a coincidence. I was working with the Council of Five, and I thought maybe I'd get some tea between meetings. That's when I saw you. You were out there, like I said, giving tea orders to Iroh."

He starts to restack the plates, but keeps a wary eye on her while she studies the floor. She seems nervous for some reason. "Why didn't you say anything before?"

She rubs the back of her neck. "It never came up. We've never really talked about that time before. Not without yelling, anyway."

The sudden shift in her mood strikes him as odd, and something about the situation tickles at the edge of his awareness, like he's missing something important but isn't sure what. "Did you tell the others we were here?"

She shifts uncomfortably on her feet. "Not exactly."

He still isn't sure where this is going, but her uneasiness is contagious and he's almost afraid to ask. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She bites her lip. "I told your sister."

His blood runs cold. Katara is recoiling as though she is just waiting for him to explode, but he is too stunned to even react. He blinks and cocks his head to one side. "You told my sister?"

She holds her hands up and the words come spilling out. "I didn't mean to! I was scared, okay? I was surprised to see you here, so I ran back to warn Suki and the other Kyoshi Warriors, but it wasn't them! It was your sister and her friends in disguise – "

"You told my sister." He turns to face her fully, his task entirely forgotten. Shock turns to anger as the implications start to click into place, and he can feel his fists shake at his sides. "_You_ told _Azula_ we were _here?!"_

"Yes, but it was an accident! And then Ty Lee did her freaky chi blocking thing and they threw me in prison – "

"I can't_ believe_ this." He covers his face with his hands and shakes his head. "It was you…" His hands fall away from his face and he stalks toward her, pointing his finger in her face. "It was all _your_ fault! I always wondered how Azula found us! _You_ got us both thrown into prison!"

She smacks his hand away and sticks out her chin, getting right in his face. She _is_ taller, but not by much; at this proximity she still has to tip her chin back to look him in the eye. "What, you think I liked it any more than you did? It's not like I did it on purpose!"

His voice rises, tinged with incredulity. "No! But the whole time we were in there you were blaming _me_! You accused me of plotting to capture the Avatar!"

She matches the volume of his voice. "I apologized for that! I was just angry!"

"But the whole time you knew it was you!"

"I was wrong, okay? Is that what you want to hear?"

"You said I was a terrible person!"

She explodes._ "And then I offered to heal you!"_

"I – " He quickly shuts his mouth. What was he going to say, really? There's no comeback, no defense. It takes no effort to remember her slow steps as she approached, her hand as it tentatively reached toward him, the strange sensation of gentle fingers ghosting over the ruined skin of his face. They stare at each other for one long moment, faces inches apart, searching each other's eyes. The anger drains away and familiar shame replaces it. He backs down but does not back away. He hangs his head and can't meet her gaze. "I know. I'm sorry."

She doesn't respond. He doesn't even want to know what she's thinking. She might have forgiven him for his betrayal, and they might even be friends, but there was a reason they had avoided talking about that day. He wonders if they'll _ever_ be able to talk about this without yelling. He wonders if they'll have the chance to. Suddenly he is worried what this might mean for their friendship, and is surprised to notice how much it matters.

The silence is broken by a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry too. And not just for telling Azula." Her words fill him with relief. Before he can reply he startles when her cool hand reaches up to rest on the left side of his face. The response is automatic; his eyes flutter closed and he holds his breath. Her voice is soft, almost a whisper. "I'm sorry I couldn't heal you then."

His eyes open and he studies her. She is sincere. It's foolish, but he can't help but wonder what might have been different if Aang and Uncle had waited just a minute longer. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. But there was no going back to change it now. He shrugs, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably. "It's okay."

Her eyes shift and study the uneven planes of his cheekbone, her thumb tracing over glossy flesh. "You know, if you wanted, I could see if Chief Arnook would send me some more water from the Spirit Oasis - "

The back door swings open and Iroh appears carrying a sungi horn and a bright bouquet of pink peonies. Katara jumps back a step, but not quick enough to escape his Uncle's notice. A feeling of déjà vu overwhelms him, and he almost expects the Avatar to rush in and hug Katara. His Uncle's eyes shift between them and his lips curve into a grin.

"Katara! So good to see you! You look radiant today. Zuko, would you help me bring in the other packages that were left outside while I start the tea? Our other guests should be arriving _any minute_." He shoots Zuko a meaningful look.

His jaw drops and he wants to stomp his foot. _It's not what it looks like!_ Instead he swallows his retort and tries to gain some composure. "Yes Uncle."

They both watch as Iroh sets the flowers down on the counter and shuffles away into the other room. Awkwardness overtakes him and he rubs the back of his neck. This is not what he thought he was in for when he agreed to come to the Jasmine Dragon today. His Uncle's little tea party hadn't even started and he already can't wait for it to be over. He turns to escape out the back door to gather Iroh's purchases - and his wits - but her voice stops him.

"Zuko, wait! About what I said…"

Damn. It's tempting. It really is. But he shakes his head. "Thank you. For the offer, I mean. But it won't be necessary."

"Are you sure? It wouldn't be a problem..."

He looks at her. She's fidgeting with her hands and looking at the ground. She really does look different. Maybe she _is_ different. Maybe they both are. He is startled to notice that his hand has crept up to his chest, his fingers rubbing absentmindedly at scars unseen. He forces his arm to his side. "No. You've done enough for me already."

The smile she gives him is soft and warm. "Okay. I wanted to offer just in case. Though I'm kind of glad. To be honest I can't really imagine you without it."

Something warm expands under his skin as she says it, though he isn't sure why. Her words aren't even that complimentary. But there is something about the look in her eyes that seems to make the whole room feel smaller. He realizes he's staring again.

The moment breaks as they hear the front door open and muffled voices begin to fill the tea shop. He recognizes Aang's laughter and catches a few words about rabaroos and hogmonkeys. She turns her head to listen and chuckles to herself. "Sounds like they had fun." She looks back at Zuko, and opens her mouth before closing it. She seems to consider something before thinking better of it. "So… I'll see you at the party, then?"

He nods, and watches her turn toward the doorway that leads to the front room to greet her friends. His limbs seem to move of their own accord; suddenly he is right behind her, his hand reaching for her shoulder. "Katara, wait."

She turns and blue eyes fill his vision. "Yes?"

He gapes at her, speechless. _What was he doing?_ _Why did he stop her? He could've escaped all this!_ Panic starts to take hold and his eyes skip away. They land on the flowers resting on the counter. On impulse he pulls one from the bunch, cracking the stem to shorten its length. He holds it out to her.

"Here…For your hair."

He shouldn't feel so victorious about the soft color that rises in her cheeks, but he does. "Thanks, Zuko. Are you sure Iroh won't mind?"

Inwardly he groans. _Uncle._ "No. I'm positive that he won't."

She works the stem into the bun at the nape of her neck and turns for him to inspect. He catches the sweet fragrance of the flower in the air as she moves. "How does it look?"

_Perfect._ "Good."

She gives him one last bright smile over her shoulder. "Okay. I'd better go say hi. See you later!"

Iroh passes her on the way out, and he resists the urge to run a palm over his face as he sees his Uncle eyeing the flower in Katara's hair. He steps toward Zuko carrying a tea pot and reaches for the tray of cups that Zuko has collected. He says nothing, and starts to causally measure out the tea. For a moment Zuko thinks he is safe. He turns on his heel to head out the back door.

"So, nephew… "

He flinches and pauses in his steps. "Not now Uncle."

"What?" Iroh's voice is irritatingly innocent. "I was simply going to suggest that you go down the street and let your girlfriend know that the others have arrived."

_Mai._ _Right. _"Of course. I'll be right back."

He storms out of the shop and down the street, shaking the instance from his mind. _It's not what Uncle thinks._ _It was nothing. We've been through a lot together. She's always been able to get a rise out of me, and this is no different. So what if I did something nice for Katara? She offered to do something nice for me. It was only fair. I have a girlfriend, and I care about her. It was nothing._

He had just about convinced himself by the time he reached the weapons shop, and had almost forgotten about it entirely as he walked through the streets with Mai, listening to her briefly explain the pros and cons of single and double edged senbon and the reasons she bought both. He smiles at the hint of excitement in her voice. He likes making her happy.

By the time they arrive back at the shop it is easy to pretend like nothing happened. Because nothing _had_ happened. It was a fluke. _Of course_ he likes Katara, she is his friend. That's all. It was nothing to worry about. That explained everything.

And yet he couldn't explain the slight ache of disappointment he felt when he glanced out at the balcony at sunset to see the Avatar holding Katara in his arms.

* * *

He thanks the florist with a small smile as he accepts the bouquet of flowers. As always, the young woman behind the counter tries to refuse the silver pieces he offers in payment, but Zuko insists. Once, when he was a much younger man, he might have kept the coins; members of the royal family were accustomed to accepting gifts from commoners, entitled to them even. But Zuko is not a young man anymore.

The streets of Ember Island are crowded as always, even more so than normal as citizens enjoy the national holiday. Spring has finally come to the Fire Nation, and today the sun and moon will share equal time in the sky. Those that notice him smile and dip at the waist as he passes, but most are involved in their own lives and he continues without fanfare or incident. He weaves past couples and families that stroll along the sidewalks. A little girl with pigtails in her hair sprints by and he spins deftly on one foot to dodge. He smiles to himself; he might be old but his reflexes are still intact. He chuckles when her mother gives chase an instant later, shouting apologies.

The sounds of town fade and are replaced by crashing tides and crying gulls as he approaches the shore. He toes off his shoes and enjoys the feeling of sun-warmed sand shifting under his feet. The population thins as he heads farther west. He follows the undulating line of the tides, allowing the sea to lap at his toes. Before long he spots the jutting rocks that frame his family's home. The climb up the path to the front doors seems to get steeper each time he makes this journey, and he is thankful for the stiff ocean breeze that passes over him as he approaches the steps. It wouldn't be long before he might have to acquiesce and let someone drive him to town. But not yet.

Servants greet him upon his arrival and welcome him home. They anticipate his sandy feet; they flutter about him and help him to sit while proffering him a warm damp towel. He does his best to eliminate the stubborn grains of sand, and once he is satisfied that he won't leave a trail all over the floors he nods his thanks before strolling to the back of the house, slipping his shoes back on before stepping outside.

The courtyard is more well-kept now than it was in his adolescence. Gardeners have tamed the vines that climb the wooden posts of the long lanai and the bushes are carefully trimmed. Though cracked and smooth with age, the stones are swept. The fountain at the center displays cascades of streaming water, kicking up clouds of mist that refract the slanting afternoon sun. It is his favorite area of the house. Though he spends time here almost daily, he is still always a little taken aback by the transformation. His most vivid memories of this place are not of manicured landscapes but of overgrown hedges and weeds; not of silence and tranquility but of sweat and aching muscles as he trained the Avatar to control fire.

But today he does not linger here. Instead, he veers right and heads toward the small set of stairs that lead to a copse of tropical trees and vegetation. He climbs them and follows the dirt path, the crowded leaves overhead cloaking him in dappled light. The path bends left but he steps right, pushing his way through low hanging branches that threaten to cling to his robes. His feet follow the trickle of a stream until he reaches a small clearing. He surveys the area and smiles.

"Hi, Katara."

Of course, there is no one there.

The space is empty, just a small clearance in a thick mass of trees. Tall grasses blanket the ground. The shallow stream snakes its way along the line of trees, bubbling over rocks. It's a pretty area, private and peaceful. He slowly kneels down at its center and brushes debris away from the flat marble slab that lies flush with the ground.

It is not the memorial she deserves, nor the one she would want. He remembers her exasperated comments – _how can you _stand _the heat here_ - and the way she would bend away the sheen of sweat that bloomed across her chest with the flick of a wrist. But it can't be helped. He owns no property in the other nations, and he needed to keep her close. Closer than she was in life, anyway. He hopes the shade and the sound of water appease her spirit should she chose to visit.

The rest of the house may be meticulously groomed, but the staff knows better than to disturb the area beyond the courtyard. Here the plants grow wild, and he frowns as he notes how the grass and weeds are already encroaching on the stone despite his efforts to fight the overgrowth during his last visit.

Kneeling down, he sighs and sets to work. Long fingers pick at the tendrils of grass and stray weeds that have sprouted up around the edges of the stone and pluck at vines that curl across its surface. He tells himself that the tremor in his hand is simply an artifact of old age. Satisfied with his work, he brushes off his hands. He frowns as he discovers the stains on his fingers left behind by the plants. Green smudges have worked their way into his fingertips. He tries to rub away the stains, but they are stubborn, smearing across his palms and corrupting his mood. He curls his fingers into fists and his eyes squeeze shut, attempting to will away memories of this particular shade.

"Green was never a good color for us."

His fingers unfurl and he reaches for the package he brought with him. He unwraps the bouquet of pink peonies he purchased in the market and separates the stems. One by one he places them reverently around the edges of the stone. He loses himself in this color instead, and smiles at the memory of the flush in her cheeks and the scent of her hair.

* * *

A/N – Thanks for reading! This story will be told in four parts, and each chapter is based on a prompt from Zutara Week 2014. This chapter was "melancholy." Up next: "slow dancing."

It was also inspired by the song "Weatherman" by Tori Amos. If you listen to it, you might get a feel for the tone of the story. And also you'll have listened to a lovely piece of music, so it's a win-win, really.

Don't forget to let me know what you think! (PS: I can't decide which I like writing more: awkward turtleduck Zutara or snarky banter Zutara. Look for much more of the latter in the next chapter!)


	2. Slow Dancing - Part One

A/N – Here's part one of the next section, chalk full of fluffy!snarky!awkward!Zutara goodness. This chapter brought to you by the Zutara Week 2014 prompt "Slow Dancing." (Sorry for the double-post, ff ate my page breaks).

* * *

Zuko sits on the patio of a corner tea shop, sipping the jasmine in his cup dispassionately. Even in the shade of the awning, the climbing mid-summer temperatures make his robes stick to his skin. The summer solstice had come and gone only a few weeks ago but he had not been here to enjoy the festivities. Trade negotiations which he was overseeing on his daughter's behalf in Ba Sing Se had taken longer than planned, so instead of being with his people he had participated in muted celebrations with Earth Kingdom nobility. It seemed that while he was away the weather had shed the last vestiges of spring. Now the air hangs around him, stifling and thick. Being gone for almost a month was almost enough to make him forget that the Fire Nation lives up to its name at this time of year. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair as yet another bead of sweat rolls down his neck. All that stuff about firebenders liking the heat was nonsense; he might have a higher tolerance for it, but even he feels drained and sluggish in this kind of weather.

The people around him seem not to notice. The streets of Ember Island are bustling with activity in preparation for some sort of upcoming festivity. Brightly colored paper lanterns line the streets of the market, dancing on their strings in time with the sea breeze. The smell of fried foods and other delicacies already permeates the air. From the snippets of conversation that he hears, in a few hours citizens and tourists alike will line the streets to cheer for a parade. When darkness falls, they will dance and delight at a display of fireworks to celebrate the day.

They hurry down the sidewalks, anticipation buoying their footsteps. What is it that they are so happy about? He studies them with growing agitation that he can't quite place. He had thought that people-watching would prove to be an enjoyable way to spend the morning after his return voyage, but it is having the opposite effect. His brow furrows as he tries to place the feeling building in his chest. Perhaps he is just disappointed that he had missed the solstice festivities. Yes, that must be it.

The sound of laughter draws his attention and he looks up from his tea to see a young couple stumbling over a curb, arms linked, struggling to right themselves. The young woman giggles as she overcompensates, pulling them forward. They almost collide into a passerby who shoots them a distasteful look. They find their stride as she shouts out a cheerful apology. Zuko watches from behind as the young man tugs her closer and whispers something in her ear. She responds by digging in a pocket and producing a small piece of paper. Together they approach one of the small bamboo trees that line the sidewalks and fasten the paper to the stalk. He steals a kiss from her as they continue on their way, and another peal of laughter rings in the streets and fades along with them as they disappear into the crowd.

The tea in Zuko's cup boils. He startles and almost fumbles the porcelain before setting the cup down as gently as he can. He fishes in his pocket for loose coins and practically slams them down on the table as he rises to leave. He folds his hands into his sleeves and makes a hasty retreat toward the house.

_Of course_, he thinks. _Of course I would have to come home in time for _this _festival_. He storms down the streets of the town and heads toward the shore. Along the way he encounters a few more trees just like the one in town, fluttering slips of paper decorating their branches. He isn't sure how he could have missed them before, but now they seem to be everywhere he looks. His pace quickens.

He had planned on going straight back to the house, but when he reaches the shore he slows. He stops to toe off his shoes as he walks across the sand, carefully easing himself down when he is a safe distance from the tides. It feels comforting, somehow, to watch the rhythm of the water and let the roar of the sea drown out everything else. This close the breeze that comes in off the waves is stiff, though the sky above is cloudless and serene. If he squints, however, he can see wisps of white along the horizon. They may be nothing, or they may be the beginnings of a monsoon. As a citizen of the Fire Nation, Zuko knows all too well how quickly the weather can change.

* * *

_Summer – three years post war_

_Don't ever break up with me again._

That's what she had said. And he hadn't, not for three years. What she didn't say was that _she_ was free to break up with _him_. And now here he was, taking his meals and sleeping alone. Again.

It hadn't been the first time, and he assumed it wouldn't be the last. He couldn't blame her; it was usually his fault, anyway. Usually all it took was a sincere apology and a plate of fruit tarts and within a week or two she would forgive him and everything would return to normal.

Except this time it didn't.

It has been two months and Mai still hasn't responded to any of his letters, and each time he goes to her home across the plaza he is told no, your Highness, she isn't there. Travelling, they say. Well, if that's the way she wants it, fine. He doesn't have time to be chasing after someone who doesn't want him. He's the Fire Lord. He has other things to do.

Except sometimes he doesn't, and then things are overwhelmingly boring and lonely.

Then his Uncle shows up, and things get worse.

The old man is full of proverbs and calming tea and Zuko just doesn't want to hear it. He's _fine_. Why can't everyone just mind their own business? Just because his paperwork is piling up more than normal doesn't meant anything. Yes, he had lost control during his morning sparring session, but that wasn't new. And so what if he had snapped at Minister Lao? He had it coming.

When he cancels his third council meeting in the span of two weeks, Iroh suggests that Zuko could use a vacation. Zuko disagrees. Iroh insists.

Which is how he finds himself on the deck of a small private vessel on its way to Ember Island. He glares at the sea as his mind attempts to avoid words like _banishment _and _exile_. He tries to convince himself that Uncle has his best interests at heart. It's true that Zuko has been working almost tirelessly for three years with little rest. The few times he has left the city have been for official visits and he has had little time to socialize or enjoy himself. Not that he really has many friends or even knows how to relax. He tries to comfort himself with the notion that the Fire Nation is left in good hands while he is away and resigns himself to staying for the proscribed amount of time before promptly returning to his duties. Then Uncle will be out of excuses and he can get back to work.

Even from the docks he can tell that the royal property has improved since the last time he was here. The seasonal staff has done well in maintaining the grounds and seeing to the upkeep of the home itself. Servants are expecting him; they welcome him and tend to his luggage. He declines offers of refreshment from the staff and heads toward the second level of the house. His footsteps echo on the wood floors as he climbs the stairs; he avoids the rooms assigned originally assigned to the Fire Lord for obvious reasons. The door to his childhood bedroom creaks in greeting. He stands in the doorway for a moment, hesitating before crossing the threshold.

_So. Now what? _

He crosses to the bed and slumps down on it while glancing around the room. The furnishings are luxurious but sparse; everything serves its function and nothing more. To his knowledge, most of the family's personal effects had been removed years ago. He frowns as he scans the empty planes of a small desk. What was it that Uncle actually expected him to _do_ here? It's not as if the beach house was bursting with entertainment possibilities. Things might have been different if he had a travelling partner, but it's not as if he was going to go to town or to the beach by himself. If Mai were here –

He shakes his head. But she wasn't here. And she wasn't going to be. Whatever. Who needed her anyway? He'd find plenty of ways to amuse himself.

He starts by summoning someone to bring his bags to his room and then proceeds to unpack. This takes considerably less time than he thinks it will, though he shouldn't be surprised: he didn't really bring that much with him. No matter. He sets up his meditation candles, thinking that what he really needs is to clear his head. After about a quarter candle mark the flames flare as he grunts in frustration before he extinguishes them altogether. He eyes the bed. Maybe if he can't meditate he can catch up on some sleep. He tries to take a nap, but the presence of the sun in the sky ensures that his eyes won't stay shut. He rolls onto his back and glares at the ceiling.

It's only been an hour, and he is already out of ideas.

Reluctantly he trudges downstairs. He requests tea and a snack from the wait staff and veers down the hall to the modest study. Perhaps he can secure a messenger hawk and send a missive to the palace requesting that some of his neglected paperwork be couriered to him. Uncle wouldn't have to know, and if he works outside in the courtyard it's kind of like relaxing, isn't it? When he pulls open the doors he is surprised to find that the shelves behind the desk are still piled high with old scrolls. Upon closer examination, they don't appear to be in any order; whoever left them here either had no organizational skills or simply took what they wanted and left the rest behind in a state of disarray. Curious, he pulls a few scrolls at random and secures them in the crook of his arm. He supposes that message to the palace could wait.

Zuko heads out to the courtyard. It looks different than the last time he was here; the plants have been trimmed back and the fountain is in working order. A pair of rattan chairs with a small table nestled in between are situated in the shade of the lanai, and he settles into one of them.

A servant brings his tea and some fire flakes. He sips his tea and opens a scroll. He had been expecting dry military texts or historical revisions, but instead he finds a collection of Fire Nation folklore. The illustrations instantly bring back hazy memories of childhood. Did his mother read these to him? Uncle? He wasn't sure. Not his father, certainly. He dismisses the bitterness that rises in his chest and concentrates on the first tale. As he reads, a sense of nostalgia settles over him like a warm blanket. It is only when he begins to squint at the characters on the page that he realizes that the light is fading and dusk is approaching. He rolls the scroll shut and reheats the last of the tea in his cup with his palms, sipping it slowly as he sits in silence and listens to the soft sound of the tides and the singing of crickets. A quick inventory of his body reveals that his shoulders feel less tense and that pressure that's been lingering behind his eyes has diminished.

Maybe Uncle was right after all. Maybe he_ did_ need a break.

Not that he would ever tell _him_ that.

A staff member offers to light the torches in the courtyard, but Zuko declines. His eyelids feel surprisingly heavy. He leaves the scrolls in the empty chair. As he heads toward his bedroom he realizes that he is curious about what else the library holds and makes plans to return there tomorrow. He smiles to himself. This might not be a bad trip after all.

When he wakes in the morning it is well past dawn. As soon as he sees the sunlight streaming through the window he rockets out of bed. _What time is it? Why didn't someone_ – and then his brain registers his surroundings. He runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. He can't remember the last time he slept past sunrise. He contemplates getting back into bed, just to take advantage of the small luxury this trip affords. However, he can't shake the feeling that he is late for something, despite the fact that today he has no meetings, will hold no court, and will not see a single stack of paperwork. He shrugs to himself. Might as well put this rush of adrenaline to good use.

The courtyard is just as serene as it was the previous night when he steps out onto the sun warmed stones. Not for long. He strips off his tunic and before it can flutter to the ground he is already punching his way through sequences he had memorized years ago, his muscles responding without thought or planning. The very air seems to burn as he twists and pivots across the stones. The temperature around him rises and he can feel sweat start to trickle down his back. It feels good. It may have come with painstakingly slow progress and years of hard work but he is a master of his element now, and nothing else gives him quite the satisfaction or feeling of competence as controlling the fire that flares from his limbs. The only thing that might make it more satisfying is having an opponent, but at this point few are willing to spar with him and those that do he feels compelled to hold back with. Not that there was anyone available at the beach house anyway –

Through a haze of smoke and flame he hears one of the staff members call to him. "Lord Zuko! Please excuse the interruption, your highness, but - "

Before he can turn to growl at the intrusion, the ground is yanked out from under him and the stones rise up to meet him. He lands hard on his side and his temple smacks against the ground. For an instant stars ignite in his vision and he groans. _What in Agni's name was that? _

From his vantage point on the ground, he groggily looks up to discover that the fountain has grown limbs. No, not the fountain. Just the water in it. He watches with utter confusion as a long rope of water unwinds from his ankle and returns to its proper place.

Sitting up, he looks to the lanai where a shocked staff member stands next to a familiar figure in blue, a bag slung over one shoulder. The figure smirks and crosses her arms. "Getting clumsy in your old age, Fire Lord?"

He blinks a few times but she is still there. He must have hit his head harder than he thought. He shakes his head and gets to his feet. "Katara?"

The staff member seems to remember himself. He clears his throat and schools his features. "Your highness, you have a guest. Master Katara of the Southern Water Tribe."

Katara shrugs off her bag and jogs toward him. She holds out her arms like she is going to embrace him, but stops short when her eyes catch the heavy sheen of sweat that covers his bare chest. She swallows. "On second thought, I'll wait on the hug. Good to see you, Zuko. How've you been?"

"Better before you showed up," he grumbles, rubbing the knot forming on his head, though the corners of his mouth tug upward. He is studying her face, still unsure if she is just a mirage or possibly the consequence of head trauma. "It's good to see you too. But what are you doing here? And why did you sneak up on me?"

Her voice is teasing and unapologetic. "Not prepared for sneak attacks, your highness?"

The response is automatic. "Sneak attacks don't count!"

She scoffs. "You sound like my brother."

"Spare me." He rolls his eyes. "Seriously though, what are you doing here? Do you have business on Ember Island or did you travel all this way just to trip me?"

She examines her nails, looking bored. "Well if I had travelled all this way just to trip you I would be sorely disappointed. Tripping you was no challenge at all." Her eyes snap back to his and the dare in them is unmistakable.

"Oh, you came for a challenge?" He drawls. He slides back into a defensive posture and lets the briefest of sparks flare from his fingertips. Her grin widens. "Come and get it."

He catches just a flash of fire in her eyes before she spins and the water from the fountain bursts free, swirling around her and then shooting in his direction. He raises a wave of fire from the ground to block and when their elements collide a thick fog billows up around him. It engulfs him and for a moment visibility shrinks to arm's length. He readies himself, hands up and knees bent, eyes darting. Each curling cloud catches his attention and his head swivels left and right, his heart galloping against his ribs.

A loose pebble clicks against the cobblestone just to his left and his body twists in the direction of the sound. He smirks as she swears under her breath and gives up the ruse, pulling the moisture out of the air to form a water whip over her head. She is quick but he is quicker, and by the time she sees him it is too late. He ducks low and swipes a leg at her ankles, breaking her root. She tips backward and lands on her butt with a grunt. The water she was holding splashes down over her head a second later and with the look she is giving him he is sure that if she were a firebender the droplets running down her face would be turning to steam.

He looks down his nose at her and can't keep the glee out of his voice. "I guess that makes us even."

As he flips to avoid a barrage of ice needles it occurs to him that everything about this is strange. He wonders distantly if this isn't just some surreal dream. A quarter candle mark ago he was engrossed in his own training, looking forward to a long bath and a light breakfast and maybe spending the rest of the morning perusing the library. Now he is engaged in a sparring match with the world's most celebrated waterbender in his own vacation home with absolutely no explanation as to why she was here. Even stranger is the thought that in this moment the reasons barely matter; there is something about the steam in the air and the ferocity of her attacks that feels like home. If this really is just a dream, he hopes he can sleep just a little longer.

His thoughts are interrupted when one of her ice needles skims his upper thigh, nicking his skin. The sting it leaves behind confirms that he is wide awake after all. He glances at the tear in his pants and then back at her. "Aiming a little low, aren't you?"

She just smiles sweetly and launches another barrage.

He manages a few flaming punches at her in between batting away her icy darts. She dodges easily and somersaults back. When she pops back up she summons a thick stream that transforms seamlessly into an ice slide. His eyes track her quick path across the courtyard and he aims just behind her in an attempt to melt the icy ledge. Right as it looks like she might waver she flips backward off of the slide and splashes directly into the first tier of the fountain. He sends another jet at her but knows that it is pointless; she is now literally surrounded by her own element. If he hadn't been so distracted he might have noticed the way she had been maneuvering steadily closer to it. He inwardly curses at himself for not keeping himself between her and the ample water source. She blocks his attacks and gathers a wave behind her, sending it toward him. He tries to dodge but it's too much. The edges of the wave become tentacles that wind around his body and lift him off the ground. Her eyes are trained on his when she purses her lips and exhales, encasing him in ice.

She looks satisfied but he rolls his eyes toward the noonday sun. She should know this trick won't work, not on him. Taking a deep breath of his own he exhales a long stream of fire, shattering the ice and landing neatly on his feet. He gives her no time to retaliate; he flips back on his hands and spins his legs, sending out an expanding ring of flames. He can't see her through the curve of red and gold, but he feels a sense of satisfaction in that he hasn't seen an effective counterattack either. The ring widens and he flips back onto his feet just as the edges of the flames lick the outer edge of the fountain.

The taunt that was forming in his throat dies when he hears her scream.

His arms immediately swing wide, parting the curtain of flames. When they dissipate his blood stills as he sees Katara standing in the fountain, back turned and hunched over, gripping her arm. He is moving before he even realizes it; his boots slap against the stones as he rushes forward and then fill with water when he vaults over the lip of the fountain and splashes toward her.

"Katara! Are you hurt? I'm so sor - "

He reaches for her shoulder when suddenly she spins, ice dagger in hand, and nestles the point neatly in the curve of his throat.

It takes him the span of a few jagged heartbeats before his brain catches up and fully comprehends the situation. He didn't burn her. She is okay. More than okay – she had _tricked_ him. Normally he would feel humiliated for falling for such a stunt, but he is surprised to find that the shaking in his limbs is borne of receding fear instead of growing indignation. He takes a stuttered breath to calm his nerves.

Katara is oblivious and radiates smugness. "I win."

It's ridiculous, but he finds that his eyes are still scanning her body for scorch marks. The fact that none are present doesn't do anything to lessen his guilt. "Are you sure you aren't hurt?"

She gives him a look. "Of course I'm not hurt. All I had to do was duck under the water, dummy."

For the first time he notes the hair plastered to the sides of her face and the droplets that clump in her eyelashes. The guilt begins to wear off and the familiar irritation sets in. He frowns. "That was a dirty trick."

Her eyes are playful. "One that you totally fell for. Come on, Zuko, did you really think that little dance move could take me down?"

He tries to shrug but thinks better of it, the point of the ice still poking into the underside of his jaw. "It worked on Azula."

She rolls her eyes. "And who defeated her, again?"

"Don't remind me." It comes out more serious than he meant, and something unreadable flashes across her features as her eyes flick to the permanent stain on his chest. The ice in her hand melts and she takes a step back.

"Right. Well… good match? I guess we should, um, probably get out of the water now."

They step out and Katara bends the moisture from their clothes, streaming the excess neatly back in the fountain. It's an odd sensation but not entirely unpleasant. Two wide-eyed servants are waiting for them in the shade of the lanai, holding towels and a tray of refreshments. Zuko takes a towel and nods before mopping at the damp locks of his hair. His servants retreat into the house and he gestures for them to sit.

Katara collapses into one of the chairs. She waves a hand lazily in the air and water streams from a pitcher provided on the table between them. The stream splits and fills two empty glasses. With a flick of her fingers shards of ice form in each. Zuko reaches for one and the ice tinkles against the edges as he raises it to his mouth.

"Thank you." He takes a sip and relishes the feeling of the cool liquid as it slides down his throat. The sudden quiet of the courtyard and the waterbender next to him envelops him in a sense of peace. Now that he knows she is unharmed, he has a moment to acknowledge just how _good_ he feels. It has been a long time since he has had such a challenging opponent, dirty tricks or not. He sits back and breathes deep, letting his eyes fall closed as he savors the calming rush of his blood and the sweet soreness in his muscles. In his bawdier moments, Uncle Iroh always said that a good sparring match was just as good as –

"What are you so happy about?"

His eyes snap open. He hadn't realized that he had been smiling, but he quickly composes himself. "I'm never happy." The statement is rote, but it has the curve of a question behind it and he has the weirdest suspicion that if Toph were here she would be laughing at him. He clears his throat and sits up a little straighter. "You never answered me before. Do you have business on Ember Island?"

She gives him a funny look. "…No, I'm here on vacation."

That was certainly an interesting coincidence. "Oh. Me too."

She speaks slowly, as if to a child. Or an idiot. "I know. I'm here on vacation _with_ you, Zuko. Spirits, how hard did you hit your head earlier?"

He blinks at her. "_With_ me?"

"Yes. Your Uncle said – "

"My _Uncle _– "

"Yes, your Uncle. He invited me to come take a break and spend some time at the beach house."

"Right," he says flatly. Suddenly it was all clicking into place. Of _course_ his Uncle had something to do with this. How else would she have even known he was here? By all rights he should be in the capital right now, wearing heavy robes and issuing orders. He should have been suspicious the moment she appeared in the doorway. Zuko stifles a groan.

She takes a sip of her water and continues. "Sorry I'm a day late though. I had to tie up some loose ends with the people I left in charge of my waterbending pupils." She glances around. "Where's everyone else?"

He practically chokes on his water. "Everyone else?"

"Iroh said he was inviting all of the old gang, sort of like a reunion."

He thinks back to the last reunion they all had in Ba Sing Se, the tea and the patio and the pink flower in her hair. Something strange flutters in his chest. "It's just us."

He hates the disappointment that flits across her features before she replies. "Oh, well I'm sure they just got held up too. They'll probably be here soon."

Zuko doubts it. He knows his Uncle, and he has the sneaking suspicion that all of those other invitations conveniently got 'lost' on their way to the rest of the members of Team Avatar. Katara was going to be in for even more disappointment as the days passed and no one else arrived. He swirls the ice in his glass and decides to cautiously test this theory. "It was good of you to come. What made you accept the invitation?"

"Zuko, I live in the South Pole. It might be my home, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to come spend some time in the sun."

"…You didn't want to see your friends?"

"Don't be ridiculous, of course I did." She reaches over and playfully tousles his hair. "Well, maybe not you, but if you're hosting the event I guess it can't be helped."

He reaches up and runs a hand over his head, smoothing down the stray strands. "I'm touched."

"I'm just messing with you Zuko. You know that." She finishes her glass of water and stands up to stretch. "And it's '_our_ ' friends. You should know that too."

He looks at the ground. One corner of his mouth twitches up. "You're right."

"Good. Now where's the washroom in this place? I could use some freshening up after the trip here."

He stands up and gestures to her as he approaches the doorway. "Follow me."

He leads her upstairs and together they find the guest room where the staff left her bag. She rummages around and gathers a few things before he leads her to the washroom. She stops at the door and turns around.

"Hey, I could use a few things from town later. You want to go with me?"

"Just tell me what you need. I'll send someone to get it."

She waves her free hand at him. "No, I wouldn't want to bother anyone." He's about to tell her that fetching things from the market isn't a bother for the staff, it's their _job_, but she cuts him off. "Anyway, where's your sense of adventure? You weren't planning on staying in this house the whole time, were you?"

_Yes._ "No."

"Good. Then let me get cleaned up and we'll go together. Who knows, maybe by the time we get back the others will have arrived!"

She shuts the door and he runs a hand over his face. Uncle Iroh was in for a lecture of his own when Zuko returned.

Though the tropical temperatures of Ember Island make it a popular destination all year round, summer is the height of tourist season. The streets of the market are clogged, and Zuko has to shoulder his way through more than one group of people as he follows Katara while she shops. _Why did everyone insist on stopping to chat in the middle of the road? _For the hundredth time he regrets not insisting that the beach house staff go to town for them. He could be curled up on his porch right now, eating fire flakes and reading through more scrolls. But no, Katara wants to _shop_.

And she is a shopper, to be sure. Or at least a browser. After purchasing the items that she wanted, she suggests that they continue to browse through the stalls. There are a few items that catch her fancy and she bargains like a champ, securing a few small trinkets at a fraction of the price. He tries to offer his own coins in payment but she refuses, saying something about having 'saved up for the trip.' Zuko is slightly horrified by this statement, as it can only confirm that Uncle has planned this out well in advance like tiles on a pai sho board. Well, he had strategies of his own, and he wouldn't give the old man the satisfaction.

As she pockets her final purchase she announces that she is ready to go back. He stifles a sigh of relief. They make their way west, back through the center of town on the way to the beach house. In the center square they pass a community board papered in old announcements and posters. It isn't until she calls his name that he realizes she is no longer right behind him.

"Zuko, get over here!"

He doubles back, almost tripping over a little boy who darts in front of him. "What is it?"

She is pointing to a large, brightly colored piece of parchment tacked prominently in the center of the board. "Did you know there's a festival tomorrow? It says here that it will have traditional food and music and performers. We should go!"

Zuko can think of nothing he would want to do less. But when she turns from the placard she just looks so hopeful and excited that he can't bring himself to outright deny her. So he tries to reason with her instead. "Katara, I can't just go to a festival. I'm the Fire Lord. People will recognize me." _It will be a disaster._

She gives him a skeptical look. "Zuko, we've been out all afternoon. Has anyone recognized you yet?"

Actually, he was pretty sure a few people did. The first merchant who relented to Katara's bids for half-price merchandise had only given in once he had sidled up behind her, eyes narrowed. But for some reason he didn't want to take that victory from her. Besides, if anyone _had_ recognized him, no one had made a fuss about it. "I guess not." He searches for another excuse. "But… we don't have anything to wear?"

She gives him a flat look. "We're in a _market_." She gestures widely. "If you need something, now's the time."

He imagines another hour of this and suppresses a shudder. "On second thought, I think I'm good."

Her hand finds her hip. "Any other objections?"

"I don't like… performers?"

She snorts and grabs his arm, linking hers with his and dragging him away from the board. "You just don't like fun. But in case you didn't know, that's what vacations are for. It's not going to kill you to get out a little."

The feelings that spark and radiate from his arm where she is casually touching him tell him otherwise. He swallows. "It might."

"Don't worry, I'll protect you. Waterbender's honor."

He leans in and speaks softly near her ear. Just to be funny, he tells himself. Not at all because he has the strangest impulse to be closer to her. "You know, you shouldn't joke about that. Fire Nation citizens take their honor very seriously."

She laughs and turns her head, and her face is suddenly _very_ close to his own. "So I've heard."

She catches his glance and holds it. For just that moment the chaos of the market falls away. Her eyes soften and unbidden his eyes flick to her lips, which are curved and soft and -

They both jolt forward as they trip over an unseen curb. Her laughter rings out as they struggle to right themselves, and his heart jumps as she squeezes his arm and presses against him. They stumble for a few paces and she is still laughing when they slow to a stop. She lets go of his arm to smooth the front of her dress. His eyes follow her fingers as they sweep across her curves and he pointedly redirects his eyes to the sidewalk. It's then that he notices that one of her packages had fallen to the ground in the chaos. He stoops to pick it up.

"Waterbender's honor, hmm? You couldn't even protect me from a curb."

Her free hand has found her hip but her eyes shine with merriment. "That curb snuck up on me!"

He can't resist. "Not prepared for sneak attacks, Grand Master?"

"Someone told me recently that sneak attacks don't count."

"That person sounds very wise, you should listen to them." He holds out her package. "Here. You dropped this."

She waves it away. "Thanks, but you can keep it. I bought it for you, anyway."

He startles. "For me?"

"Yes, for you. I bought a little something for everyone." She shifts uneasily on her feet. "Are you going to be weird about it or are you going to open it?"

He pulls back the tissue and in his palm rests a small token, a pin with an emblem of his redesigned family crest enameled to the front. He recognizes it as something that commoners collect and display based on their support of the reigning monarch. Which is him. He is caught off guard; is she making fun of him? "You bought this for _me_?"

Doubt creeps into her voice. "…Yes? Is there something wrong with it?"

He blinks at the object in his hand. "No, it's just that…people wear these to show their support for the Fire Lord. Wouldn't it be weird for me to have one? I mean I know you think I'm some entitled, arrogant – "

His jaw snaps shut when he glances up and catches the look on her face. As he has been puzzling all of this out he hasn't been paying attention to Katara, who is looking more downtrodden by the second. She scowls at her shoes. "If you don't like it you could just say so. You don't have to make me feel stupid about it."

Shame wells up within him and he hates himself just a little for making her look like that. Panic starts to swell in his gut. He has to salvage this _now._

"No! No. I love it. See?" He starts to pin it to his tunic while she eyes him warily, unconvinced. His fingers fumble on the clasp. What would Uncle say? What he hopes is an Uncle-inspired stroke of genius froms in his mind. He stops and stands a little straighter.

"Actually," he says as he holds the token out to her, "it would do me a great honor if you would wear it instead. If people see it being worn by a woman of your bearing it would bring instant credibility to the crown." He musters what he hopes is his most charming and hopeful smile. She is giving him that funny look again, and though he maintains his grin, inwardly he cringes to his core. He should have known that that wouldn't work; only his Uncle could possibly pull off this level of cheesy flattery. He knows he's overdone it and he expects her to storm off at any moment.

But to his surprise her lips quirk up. "Okay. On one condition."

His voice comes out too eager at the return of her smile. "Anything."

"Promise we'll go to the festival tomorrow."

The corners of his mouth twitch downward but he quickly recovers._ She's outmaneuvered you again, Zuzu_. "Fine. We'll go to the festival."

She takes a step closer to him and clasps her hands behind her back. "_And _you promise you'll have fun."

He narrows his eyes at her. "I promise I won't complain."

This earns him another pretty smile and his breath catches. She nods. "Fair enough. Now pin that on so I can show my support for the Fire Lord."

He tries not to look relieved as he leans in to pin the token to her collar. He tweaks the edges so that it sits straight. Just to make sure it looks right, he tells himself. Certainly not because he wants an excuse to have physical contact with her. He banishes his Uncle's words and replaces them with sincerity. "Thank you for thinking of me. That was kind of you."

"You're welcome. Even if you are an ungrateful ass sometimes."

That was more like it. "I deserve that."

"Yes, you do. But you're going to make it up to me tomorrow." She smiles and relinks her arm with his.

They walk in silence until they are almost to the edge of the town. He isn't sure if she is quiet because she's still miffed with him or because she is just enjoying the scenery. He is lost in his own thoughts when she breaks the silence. "Just for the record, I haven't thought those things about you for a long time."

"What?"

She elbows him with her linked arm. "That you were an entitled arrogant brat."

He finds it in himself to be wry. "But I was right, you _did_ think that."

"Well, weren't you?"

He wants to say no, but then he remembers his indignation about having to go to town in place of his servants. _Servants_, for Agni's sake. He hangs his head. "I probably still am."

"You think so?"

"I grew up a prince and now I'm the Fire Lord. It kind of comes with the job title."

She considers this. "That might be true, but that's not all you are. In between you were in exile and a refugee and the Avatar's firebending teacher. You fought alongside peasants and rebels. That counts for something."

"I suppose so." Perhaps she's right; those experiences _were_ humbling. And even in his most imperious moments he was never quite as uppity as Azula ever was. At least, he hopes so. These days it was more a matter of habit and necessity than attitude. He looks at her, more curious than ever about this woman who continually tries to look past the surface of things to find the good. The wind ruffles her curls and the sun catches in the strands as they approach the shore. His expression softens. "Just for the record, I haven't thought about you like that in a long time either. As a peasant, I mean."

She throws back her head and laughs. This is certainly not the response he was going for. He shrinks a little. "I wasn't trying to be funny."

Her laughter tapers off enough for her to respond. "Zuko, I _am_ a peasant. I know you used to mean it as an insult, but really, what else what I be?"

Embarrassment brings heat to his face. "I don't know. I guess you just seem like more than that to me."

Her laughter fades and she gives him a long look that he can't decipher. "Thanks, Zuko." As they crest a hill the sea opens up before them and draws her attention. She takes a deep breath of ocean air and leans into him for just an instant. "See? I knew it. There really is a decent guy under all that pomp."

He leans in as well. "You didn't always know that."

"No, but you make it a lot easier to notice these days."

He stands a little straighter at her words. They travel the rest of the way in comfortable silence, arriving at the beach house just as the sun is sinking into the sea. They share a companionable meal and she fills him in on the comings and goings in the South Pole. She tells tales of teaching waterbending to some of the younger members of the tribe that have joined them from the North. She comments offhandedly that one of the young widowed men asked her father for permission to court her. With distaste in her voice she explains how she had to restrain from making him a permanent part of the tundra in order to maintain diplomatic ties, but Zuko has stopped listening. The last he knew she was in a serious relationship with Aang. The rice in his mouth sours as he remembers that balcony scene. But that was three years ago. A lot could change in three years. And that could change a lot of things now. For some reason the thought of it makes him want to bring back some tea for Uncle Iroh.

After their meal they take a bottle of rice wine and settle into the chairs on the lanai. The torches are lit, casting long shadows across the wooden beams. Beyond the awning the stars wink behind stray wisps of clouds. The silence is interrupted only by the hushed breathing of the ocean and the soft rustle of cloth as either of them takes a sip of wine.

In his peripheral vision he sees Katara turn in her chair to refill her glass. But instead of the bottle she picks up a scroll. "What's this?"

He gives it a passing glance before turning his attention back to the night. "There's a small library in the study on the first floor. I was reading yesterday. Actually, that's what I had planned to do today, but someone sort of showed up and ruined that plan."

She whacks him on the arm lightly with the scroll. "Are you saying you'd rather have spent the afternoon with these scrolls instead of me?"

"Scrolls don't force me to take them to the market."

"Ha ha, very funny. Let's just see what was so captivating then." She sets her glass down and unwinds the parchment. A small part of him feels silly; she didn't need to know that he was sitting around reading children's tales for fun. He braces himself for the inevitable snarky commentary, but instead she just lets out a long, low whistle.

"Wow, Zuko. I didn't know you were into this sort of thing."

His head snaps in her direction. A blush is creeping up her throat as her eyes rapidly scan the characters on the page. He sputters, trying to defend himself. "What? I'm a grown man, I can spend my time however I want." He slumps in his chair and takes a gulp of wine.

She rolls the scroll shut and stands suddenly, hastily setting the scroll down on the table between them. Her voice has an odd lilt and her eyes skip around, refusing to meet his. "Yep, you sure are. A grown man, I mean - I mean that you can do what you want because you're grown. And a man. Wow, look how late it's getting! I should go to bed. Right now. See you tomorrow!" And with that she spins on her heel and disappears into the house.

He stares at the empty doorway trying to puzzle out what just happened. He shakes his head and finishes off the last of the wine in his glass. _Girls are crazy._

He reaches over and picks up the scroll she was looking at out of the stack he had brought with him the day before. A weird feeling gathers in his gut as he pulls it into his lap; this is not the scroll he was reading yesterday. It's heavier and the parchment is stained with age. After a moment's hesitation he spins it open.

Across the top frilly characters spell out_ "Love Amongst the Dragons."_

He cringes a little. He's not sure that sappy romance stories are any more embarrassing than fables, but that still doesn't explain Katara's swift and bizarre departure. He unrolls the scroll a little further and suddenly everything makes perfect, horrifying sense.

This is _not_ the story that his mother told him as a child. Or maybe it is, but this is clearly the _adult_ version. Complete with _illustrations_.

He spins the scroll shut immediately and resists the urge to push it off of his lap. He pinches the bridge of his nose and groans as he imagines having to look Katara in the face over breakfast in the morning. He thinks he might just keep to his original plan and not leave the house for the remainder of the trip. Or his room, for that matter. Instead, he would bide his time and wait to go back to the capital and resume his stressful, tedious job where no one thought he was a secret pervert and he could just pretend like none of this ever happened.

But first, he was going to kill Uncle Iroh.

* * *

A/N – Hey all! Sorry for the delay in updating this. There was a lot of real life stuff that came up – I had to move across the country, start a new job, etc. But now that I'm settled in I can return my attention to Zutara goodness!

I know the description for this story states that it will be told in four parts, and it will. It's just that this chapter was getting unwieldy (approaching 20,000 words) and I decided to split it into two for the sake of easier reading. As always, let me know what you think! Reviews warm the angsty cockles of my Zutarian heart.

Up next: festival shenanigans!


	3. Slow Dancing - Part Two

A/N: Alright, I said this section would be broken up into two parts for ease of readability, but in fact it will be three. Again, it was getting unwieldy. But this section is finished, so this chapter and the next will be posted simultaneously for your reading pleasure. Settle in for part two and three of "slow dancing" and festival shenanigans!

* * *

_I promised not to complain. I promised not to complain. I promised not to complain. _

The café is stifling and loud and he's pretty sure that the men two tables over are already drunk despite the fact that the sun has not yet set. Across from him Katara's eyes bounce around the room excitedly, and for a moment her envies her enthusiasm. This was certainly not his idea of fun, but as long as she was distracted perhaps they could at least avoid certain conversations. Like ones about literary preferences.

She hadn't brought it up yet, and frankly he was a little surprised. It was unlike her to miss an opportunity to make him feel like an idiot. When he woke that morning, he did seriously consider staying in his room all day just to avoid any uncomfortable commentary. And he did, for a while. He slept late, spent some time meditating, organized and reorganized the few items in his closet. But in the end, he relented. A promise was a promise, and he was a man of honor.

Not that Katara would let him forget, as was evidenced by her banging on his door early that afternoon to remind him that they had a festival to attend.

He had begrudgingly gotten dressed in what he thought was his most plain and inconspicuous outfit and trudged downstairs where she was waiting in the foyer. Gone were her blue robes, replaced with a long swishing maroon skirt and a matching midriff-baring top that stretched across one shoulder. It looked suspiciously like the outfit she had worn years ago when they had gone to see that stupid play during the war. Except that this time around it looked… better. A lot better. Memories of that night made him think about the Ember Island Players, which of course made him think about _Love Amongst the Dragons_. Which made him think about those illustrations. And Katara. He hoped she hadn't noticed as his feet stuttered ungracefully on the final few stairs.

She had just smiled and led the way out the front door, though he noticed that she never quite met his eyes. As they stepped out into the sun he noticed a flash of light coming from her shoulder. The pin she had bought for him yesterday winked in the bright light of day, mocking him.

The trip to town had been a mostly silent affair, devoid of the playful banter of the day before and, to his disappointment, any physical contact. By the time they reached the edge of town the smell of festival food was already permeating the air. Inhaling deeply, Katara announced that she was starving, and they walked until they found a small restaurant away from the center of the festivities. Zuko had intentionally seated himself so that his left side faced the wall. He was probably overreacting, but it didn't hurt to be careful.

The men at the table nearby keep stealing sideways glances at Katara and exchanging hushed comments. Zuko can't hear what they are saying but he is sure that it is dishonorable at best. When they erupt in raucous laughter he braces himself to confront them, but at that moment their server choses to appear. Katara catches his frown but doesn't comment.

Despite her proclamation of hunger, the meal she orders is considerably light. He quirks a brow at her after their server leaves the table. "Are you sure that's all you want? I brought plenty of money."

She waves him off. "Don't be silly. I have my own. Besides, I'm just saving room for festival food!"

His mood brightens incrementally. "You sound like Sokka. Again."

She smiles wistfully. "I miss him. I haven't seen him in almost six months." She toys with the chopsticks on the table. "I wonder what's taking everyone so long to get here?"

He knows he should tell her about his suspicions, but an irrational voice in his head tells him that if she knew they weren't coming she would pack up and leave that very night. And he is finding that he very much does _not_ want her to leave. Instead, he uses the opportunity to probe a little. "Six months? That's a long time. What about the others?"

She taps her chin with a finger. "Let's see… I last saw Toph about nine months ago at the grand opening of her second metal bending school. Suki was with Sokka when they last visited the South Pole. And I saw Aang about three months ago. The last I knew he was off to search the areas around the Eastern Air Temple to see if there were any stray herds of sky bison still nesting there."

Katara's last statement strikes him as odd; it seemed that Zuko had seen the Avatar more recently than she had, right around the time he had broken up with Mai. Aang had chatted with him briefly after an annual summit meeting, but a quick inventory of Zuko's memories doesn't produce anything noteworthy about the conversation. Katara hadn't accompanied Aang but that didn't seem unusual at the time; she didn't always have the opportunity to travel with him. Aang hadn't said anything about their relationship ending, but then again that wasn't something that people just came out and announced to distant friends at a political meeting. It's not like he had said anything about Mai, after all.

The server arrives with their food and they both tuck in. He chews slowly, hoping that in the time it takes him to finish this bite he'll either figure out how to delicately ask her about Aang or that she'll offer up an explanation. Neither occurs by the time he swallows. He watches her as she surveys the crowd, looking invigorated by the steady stream of people that has trickled in since their arrival. He doesn't want to ruin her mood, but he can't contain his curiosity any longer. He clears his throat and forges ahead.

"…So, did Aang just want to go alone, or did you have something else to do, or…."

The mirth fades from her face as she turns her attention back to him. "No. We, uh, sort of broke up."

"Really?" He hopes his voice contains the appropriate mix of sympathy and curiosity and none of the inappropriate excitement that is curling in his chest.

"Yes." She looks at her noodles before turning her gaze back on him. "But what about you? I notice that your shadow isn't here following you around."

He bristles and grips the edge of the table, leaning in. "Mai wasn't my shadow, she was my girlfriend!"

She raises one eyebrow. "Was?"

He sits back and takes a breath. "Yes. She broke up with me a few months ago."

"I see. I'm sorry to hear that, Zuko." She sounds about as sorry to hear about his relationship status as he is to hear about hers. They regard each other for a long moment and her expression softens. Suddenly he worries that she's going to launch into some sentimental speech about there being other fish in the sea, but her soft smile transforms into something wicked.

"I guess that explains that scroll."

Heat shoots to the roots of his hair and he chokes on his noodles. "That wasn't – "

Their server chooses that moment to appear with their bill. He shuts his mouth and fumes, willing himself to relax. Katara swipes the ticket before he can protest and addresses the server, coins in hand.

The server takes one look at her palm and gives her a sheepish look. "I'm sorry miss, but we don't accept Water Tribe money here. Do you have anything else?"

Katara looks like she is about to launch into a different kind of speech, one that features words like 'inequality' and 'ethnocentrism.' Privately, Zuko agrees; this is a tourist hotspot and money should be money. But this is not the direction he wants the day to go, nor is this the kind of publicity he needs for the Fire Nation right now. Thinking fast, he digs into his pocket and produces his own coins.

"Here. Will this be enough?"

He makes the mistake of looking the server in the eyes, and it's obvious from the way her jaw is hanging open that he's been caught. The server drops to the floor and bows. "My Lord, it is an honor to receive you."

He winces at that volume of her voice and chances a glance around the room. This display is quickly drawing attention from the other customers, and even one of the cooks has poked his head out to see what all the commotion is about. Zuko quickly gestures for her to rise and then tries to hand her the coins again.

The server looks as though he is offering her an angry scorpion-wasp instead of a few silver pieces. "Oh no, My Lord, anything that you desire is on the house."

Most of the patrons are now craning their necks, except for the drunks at the next table who all seem to be studying the grain of their wooden table with great care. Zuko stands and pockets the coins. "We won't require anything else. Thank you for your hospitality." He strides toward the door with as much regal bearing as he can muster in his plain clothes and simple hair. Katara follows a beat later and falls into step with him when they reach the street.

As they gain some distance from the restaurant Katara chuckles. "Okay, now I get why you would worry about being recognized. Is it always like that?"

He shrugs. "More or less. Most people just bow or avert their eyes. Some people make a big deal out of it. Some make faces at me when they think I'm not looking."

"I guess we should be grateful that they just make faces."

He almost tells her about the regular threats that he receives and the two unsuccessful attempts on his life, but he doesn't. She doesn't need to concern herself with that. "It's highly unusual for me to leave the palace without an escort. Most people aren't brave enough to try something when I'm surrounded by the Imperial Firebenders."

She snorts. "Like you need all that. You're a powerful bender." Her hand shoots to her mouth and for some reason she looks alarmed. "I mean, your skills should be deterrent enough."

He eyes her carefully. "…Thanks. But it's for show as much as it is for protection." He scrunches up his face. "It's actually pretty annoying. I can't even go across the street without someone insisting that I take a palanquin."

She lays a hand on his shoulder and his nerves sing at the touch. But the look she gives him is dripping in false sympathy. "Life must be so hard for you."

He shrugs her hand away. "I didn't say it was hard, I said it was annoying. Even when I want to, I can't just blend in with everyone else. Besides, I'm sure you can relate. You're a war hero, and you travel – _travelled_ - with the Avatar. Don't tell me you haven't experienced your own share of hero worship or derision."

She seems to consider it. "Maybe." Her face clouds over. "But the way people treat me is just because of the things that I've done, not because of who I am. People make up all kinds of fictions about who they think I am or who they want me to be."

He eyes her curiously. "That's something we have in common."

She gives him a sad smile. "Yeah, I guess it is."

The crowd thickens as they approach the center square. The sky above has turned violet with the dusk and paper lanterns begin to wink into life along the streets, casting multi-hued spheres of light across passersby. Already he is sensing eyes on him; more than once someone quickly averts their gaze when he turns his head. He sighs.

"Look, I should probably go back to the house. I'm not just another tourist. This is my country and people know me here. It will just ruin your time." He glances into the shifting shadows of a nearby alley. "Or it could be dangerous."

She stops so suddenly that he almost bumps into her back. She spins to face him, one hand on her hip and another wagging in his face. "Oh no you don't. You promised me we would go to this festival, and you promised you wouldn't complain. Even you said you don't ever get to go out and have a good time, and this is the perfect opportunity. Besides, didn't I say I'd protect you?"

"Katara, it's more complicated than that – "

"No it isn't. You don't need to go home, you just need a good disguise."

He gives her a flat look. "A disguise?" He itches to point out that a change of clothes won't eradicate the blaring scar on his face, but he holds his tongue.

She taps her finger against her chin and appraises him. The scrutiny makes him shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Suddenly her eyes light up. "I know just the thing!" She grabs his hand and drags him forward through the crowds, past the center square and in the direction of the market stalls that they had visited the day before.

They stop in front of a vendor displaying a variety of colorful festival-themed items, including noisemakers and colorful bits of string attached to small slips of parchment. Hanging on a display behind the merchant is a collection of masks. He spots them and immediately knows her plan.

"You can't be serious."

"What? It's not like you haven't worn a mask before, Blue – " He claps a hand over her mouth and gives her a look. He has worked hard over the years to quell those rumors and he didn't need them to be reignited. He releases her and takes a step back. She waves a disgruntled arm in the direction of the street. "It's not like you would be the only one."

He looks around and sees that she is right. As the sky darkens more and more festival goers appear in their celebratory ensembles, masks included. He turns back to tell her that this is all really more trouble than it's worth, but Katara is already pointing to ones that strike her fancy and the vendor is pulling them off of their hangers. She holds each one up to his eyes, making a variety of faces in response. It is obvious that some meet her instant disapproval while others remain worthy contenders. He stands with his arms crossed, waiting as patiently as he can while she sifts through what seems like half of the vendor's stock. Finally a satisfied look graces her features. "This one's perfect."

She settles it over his face and adjusts the ties. He wrinkles his nose. "It itches."

She smacks his arm lightly. "No complaining. There! See for yourself!"

The merchant provides a hand mirror and he turns his head this way and that to examine the mask. It's a simple design made of dyed black leather and red trim that wraps around the upper half of his face. Gold studs decorate the edges near the eyeholes. It does a passing job; one would have to look closely to notice the mismatched eyes beneath. But it doesn't quite solve the problem at hand; the edges of his scar that trail down his cheek and stretch across his forehead remain visible.

He points to the left side of his face. "What do you suggest that we do about this?"

Her face falls, but then she reaches for his head. Gently she tugs at the hair around his forehead, pulling long strands free from his topknot so that they hang freely on either side of his face. She examines her work and nods. "That should do it. Actually, that's not a bad look for you."

He is suddenly grateful for the mask as it hopefully conceals the color heating his cheeks. "Um, thanks. Are you going to pick one out for yourself?"

She beams. "Yep! I had actually seen these yesterday and thought they were pretty but had no reason to get one. But I guess it's my destiny to have one after all!" She frowns at the selection. "I had wanted a blue one, but it wouldn't really match my outfit…"

He turns around and watches the crowd while she makes up her mind. People seem to pass by without giving him a second look, and he begrudgingly admits that Katara may have been right after all. After trying on a dozen different variations, she settles on a design similar to his but with a more feminine flair. The edges by her eyes curl upward slightly and there is a smattering of tiny gold studs that spark in the light like stars. Her large blue eyes peer out at him in striking contrast. "What do you think?"

He swallows. "It's great. Are we ready?"

But she has turned her attention back to the wares on display. She picks up one of the blank pieces of parchment and holds it up by its string. "What are these for?"

The merchant speaks up. "They are part of the festival tradition, my lady. People write wishes on them and attach them to the bamboo stalks along the streets. At midnight they are burned so that the messages can reach the spirits in the sky."

"Oh!" She picks up two. "Come on, Zuko, we have to do it! It's tradition!"

The vendor's eyes flash at the use of his name. He isn't sure if it's out of recognition or because of the familiarity by which she addresses him. Zuko reaches to pinch the bridge of his nose but his fingers touch leather instead of his own skin. "Fine." She smiles and pockets the slips.

He digs in his pocket to complete their purchase so that they can be on their way, but the vendor shies away and averts his eyes. "I couldn't possibly accept payment, my Lord."

Zuko resists the urge to stomp his foot. He lays the coins on the table. "For your discretion, then. Come on, Katara, let's go."

He grabs her wrist and drags her back toward the center of town where the majority of the festivities are taking place. In the center square an ornamental firebender is performing on a raised platform to the delight of audiences, manipulating the flames into dragons that spiral into the night sky. They settle onto a nearby bench and watch the performance. Despite the spectacle unfolding in front of him, Zuko finds that he is watching Katara more than the display of bending. Something warm and pleasant settles over him as he observes her open delight, the way she clasps her hands to her chest in anticipation and claps for each trick. He isn't used to being with someone who is so… excitable. But he finds that he likes it; her enthusiasm is contagious and he allows himself to enjoy the performance. For the first time that day he's glad he left his bedroom.

His stomach growls, reminding him of their cringe-worthy premature exit from the café earlier. He leaves her side for just a moment to visit a nearby food vendor. He is pleased that the merchant actually accepts his money without protestation; perhaps Katara's idea wasn't so bad after all. It felt good to move freely in the crowds. When he returns he offers her a skewer loaded with grilled pig-chicken and roasted vegetables.

"Here. You had a light lunch."

She thanks him and takes a bite, her eyes rolling closed as she chews. "Mmm. I love festival food. This is so much better than the fire flakes we had last time."

"Last time?"

She gestures at the performer on stage. "Back when we were trying to make it to the North Pole we attended a Fire Days festival. There was a guy doing stunts just like this."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. It… didn't turn out so well though." Before he can ask what she means she pushes on. "Can you do anything like that?"

He watches as the performer splits a stream of fire into two, creating human forms. The shapes twist and dance with one another and the audience applauds. Zuko is impressed, but he just shrugs in response. "Not really. I can make some simple shapes, but most of my training was combat related."

She smiles. "You'll have to show me sometime."

_Sometime?_ The casual way she says it implies that they have all the time in the world, but in that moment he realizes that they don't. It wouldn't be long before she would return to the South Pole and he would return to the palace, back to days filled with paperwork and meetings and empty dining halls. The thought of it sends a winter breeze across his heart. "…Sure, I'll do that."

The firebender on stage bows off to enthusiastic applause and an announcer takes his place. His voice carries across the crowds. "Thank you ladies and gentlemen! In just a few moments time, we will present the traditional tale of Orihime and Hikoboshi! Please take a moment to visit the refreshment stands and join us for this tale of love and tragedy performed by our very own world-renowned Ember Island Players!"

Zuko shoots to his feet. "Okay, time to go." He's had enough reminders of that particular acting troupe to last a lifetime.

Katara tugs his sleeve and pulls him back down to the bench. "Zuko! Don't you want to watch the play?"

He gestures at the stage. "Didn't you hear the announcer? The _Ember Island Players_ will be performing. Was _The Boy in the Iceberg_ not enough for you?"

She gives him a hopeful look. "Maybe they've improved? And anyway, the story sounds intriguing."

He quirks an eyebrow at her, but realizes she probably can't see it underneath his mask. "You don't know the story?"

"I didn't exactly grow up here."

"Oh. I just thought that since you wanted to come to the Star Festival that you knew the legend associated with it." He reviews the story in his head and winces at the idea of watching the drama performed by those imbeciles. "I don't suppose you'd just let me summarize it for you?"

That mischievous look is back, the one that curls the corners of her mouth rather deliciously. "Only if you promise to do a good job! No skipping over any details."

"Fine."

"_And_ you have to tell it in your best Uncle Iroh voice."

His hand slices the air between them. "Forget it."

She shrugs and turns her attention back to the stage. "Okay then, I guess we'll just have to stay…"

He casts a nervous glance to the platform and sees the performers start to assemble. The gaudy costumes speak volumes about the torture he will endure if he remains here. He grunts in frustration. "Fine. Have it your way. Let's just get out of here before they start, okay?"

She nods and he grabs her hand, pulling her in the opposite direction of the crowd. Just to make sure he doesn't lose her in the throngs of people, he tells himself. Not because he wants an excuse to lace his fingers with hers. They make it to the edge of town where fishing boats bob in the water along the docks. The crowds are thinner here and the breeze coming off of the sea feels refreshing. They find a bench and Katara settles next to him, angling her body toward him and tucking one leg beneath her. She crosses her arms and watches him expectantly.

"Alright Fire Lord, you're on. Story time."

"Okay." He feels faintly ridiculous. This _had_ to be better than watching the play though, right? "Once upon a time – "

"You aren't doing the voice!"

He frowns. "You were serious about that? I'm really not very good at impressions." She just levels her gaze. An exasperated sigh escapes from his lips. His voice scratches along the edges of his throat as he tries to do his best imitation of Uncle.

"Once upon a time there was a princess of the stars named Orihime – "

"Wow, you really _are_ bad at impressions."

He scowls at her. "I just said that! Can I stop now?"

She just shakes her head and continues to watch him, amusement touching her lips. He rolls his eyes and continues. "Princess Orihime spent her days along the heavenly river weaving beautiful cloth. Her father, the Sky King, loved the cloth that she produced and so she did her best to weave designs that would please him. Though she wanted to make her father proud, she also felt sad because she had no time to meet anyone and fall in love. Seeing this, her father arranged for her to meet Hikoboshi, the Cow Herder Star."

Her tone is thoughtful. "He arranged for the princess to meet a cow herder? He didn't think to match her with someone more… prestigious?"

Zuko hadn't really thought about it before; the story was so familiar in the Fire Nation that he just took it at face value. "No, I guess not. Anyway, the two quickly fell in love and were married not long afterward."

"Aren't there any details of their meeting? Their torrid romance? You aren't holding out on me are you?"

"No! I'm just telling you what I know! Are you going to let me tell the story or not?"

She folds her hands into a mocking salute. "My apologies, Story Lord. Continue."

He clears his throat again. "Orihime and Hikoboshi were married and they began to spend all of their time together. They were very happy, but as a result they began to neglect their duties. Orihime no longer weaved cloth by the side of the river, and Hikoboshi's cows strayed all over the sky. The Sky King was furious, so he separated them, keeping them on opposite sides of the river."

Katara crosses her arms. "That was stupid of him. Doesn't he know that forbidden love always finds a way?"

He doesn't know why, but something warm and light flutters in his chest. "Uh, right. Well, Orihime was devastated and begged her father to allow her to see him. Her father was merciful and agreed to let them meet once a year on the seventh day of the seventh month, provided that they remained diligent in their duties."

Katara scrunches up her face. "Once a year? That's all they got?"

"Yes. And the first time they tried to meet, they could not cross the river because there was no bridge. Orihime was heartbroken and collapsed along the side of the river in tears. Seeing her despair, a flock of magpies came to her and offered to make a bridge out of their wings so that she could cross. She happily agreed, and the lovers were allowed to meet once more. We hold this festival every year to celebrate their reunion. However, it is said that if it rains on that day the magpies cannot fly and the couple must wait for another year to be together."

He catches her glancing upward and follows her gaze; the stars twinkle brightly against the cloudless night sky. She smiles back at him. "Looks like they'll be able to meet tonight." She sighs softly and leans back on her hands to gaze at the stars, exposing the long stretch of skin from her collarbone to her jaw.

Zuko licks his lips. "Yeah, I guess they will." He startles as he realizes that he is staring and tears his eyes away, focusing on the small ships sprinkling the docks. He rubs his own throat, which is scratchy from his pitiful Iroh impression. The silence stretches out and he starts to lose himself in his own thoughts when she suddenly speaks.

"So, do you know any other stories?"

"You want me to tell you _another _story?"

She nods. "Why not? I've always loved folklore, but I don't know many Fire Nation stories."

He sighs. He has no idea why he's indulging her; he's been more than generous in catering to her whims over the past two days. But then she flashes him another smile and scoots closer and suddenly he feels a lot more giving. He rubs the back of his neck and recalls the stories he had read in the courtyard before she had arrived. "Well, I know The Badger-Fox and the Eel-Hound, the tale of Druk the Dragon King, The Painted Lady of Jang Hui –

She cuts him off and leans closer, gripping his knee. "You know the legend of the Painted Lady?"

He can't help but smile at her. "Would you like me to tell it?"

She nods enthusiastically and scoots even closer until her hip brushes against his. He tries not to react as she makes herself comfortable, despite the riot in his blood. Tentatively, he drapes an arm across the back of the bench, close enough so that it just brushes her shoulders. She responds by snuggling closer. His smile turns into a grin that she can't see.

"I'm not using the Iroh voice this time."

Her laughter vibrates against his ribs. "That's probably for the best."

He snorts and squeezes her shoulder for just an instant. "Well, once there was a strong, charitable woman who lived along the Jang Hui River…"

They spend the hour this way, trading tales. She tells him of the leopard-seal and the Sea God, and he tells her of the spirits that forged the volcanos. She recites the ballad of Tui and La and he tells her the tale of the three-eyed dragon hawk that tricked the first Earth King into walking the streets of Ba Sing Se without his clothes. The last one has her falling into his lap with laughter, wiping tears from her eyes. Maybe it's the anonymity that the mask provides, maybe it's the nostalgia associated with the stories, maybe it's the excitement of coaxing just one more laugh or captivated look out of the woman nestled under the crook of his arm, but he finds himself getting into the tales, gesturing grandly and varying the inflection in his voice. Either way, this is ten times better than reading stuffy old scrolls alone at the beach house. He can't remember the last time he felt this enthusiastic about anything, but he has the strangest feeling that if his mother could see him she would be pleased. Another breeze catches the scent of her hair and he breathes it in, feeling happier than he had been in a long time.

After a while, the sound of muffled music reaches them over the sounds of the sea. Katara perks up, and he tries not to mourn the loss of contact. "Do you hear that?"

"I guess the play must be over. They must've brought out the musicians so that people can dance."

She looks confused. "I thought dancing wasn't allowed in the Fire Nation."

"It wasn't exactly illegal, but it was frowned upon among the populace. Aang convinced me to make some changes on that front. Something about the children of the Fire Nation needing to express themselves bodily for reasons other than patriotism… I don't know, it was all sort of convoluted and I may have acquiesced just to make him stop trying to explain it."

She bumps her shoulder into his. "You're such a pushover."

He thinks of Aang's lengthy monologue about the importance of allowing people to 'write poetry with their bodies' and shudders. "Only if it serves my best interest in the end."

"Oh? Is that the only reason you'd do something you didn't like?"

Behind the mask her eyes spark and he is caught off balance by the intensity of her stare. It's clear she's no longer talking about policy changes. He mentally begins to tick off the number of concessions he has made on her behalf without any obvious benefit to himself and loses count. He might have convinced himself that the only reason he followed through with this escapade was because he wanted to keep his word, but the truth is he never would have promised any of that to begin with if he hadn't wanted to please her. He liked to think that he was growing to be a just and honorable man, a leader who was open to sensible compromise and cooperation when the situation dictated. But the bottom line was that he was the Fire Lord: if he was truly opposed to something he could be as unmovable and explosive as the chain of volcanoes that formed his homeland. And yet he had allowed himself to be prodded and cajoled by this woman from the minute she arrived. What was it about her? The only other person who might get away with such brazen behavior was his Uncle. Though to be fair his Uncle didn't have pretty blue eyes the color of the southern sea…

As she waits for his response the answer slams into him. It was her eyes. Not just that they were undeniably beautiful, but the fact that she _looked_ at him at all. She didn't avert her eyes; she wasn't intimidated or repulsed. She didn't treat him delicately or reverently. She knew exactly what he was capable of and still her eyes sparked with challenge. She looked past everything else - the prestige and the wealth and even their tumultuous shared history – and saw _him_. The realization made him feel both vulnerable and powerful at once.

He doesn't answer her directly. Instead, he holds his hand out to her. "Would you like to dance with me?"

Her lips part in surprise but she quickly covers it with a smile. Her hand finds his, and when her fingers curl around his it feels like a different type of promise. "I would like that very much."

They stroll back toward the center of town. As they approach the square the volume of the music increases and the crowds thicken. Colorful lanterns illuminate the plaza and cast a soft glow over the streets. People of all ages and nations have gathered around the stage where a collection of musicians are joyfully strumming their instruments and pounding drums. Women in colorful skirts and glittering masks spin about their counterparts to the rhythm while small children stomp their feet haphazardly along the sidelines. The atmosphere is loud and hectic and intoxicating. As they get closer the song ends and another begins. He recognizes it from the days he spent on his ship: _Four Seasons, Four Loves._

He leads her into the throng of dancers and turns so that he is facing her. He lets go of her hand only briefly so that he can bow to her in the traditional fashion. She mimics the gesture; something in him is delighted that the depth of her bow is equal to his even though she is probably completely unaware of the faux pas of court etiquette. When they rise he holds his hand out again and as soon as she takes it he spins her once; her laughter rings over the sound of the music as her skirt blooms around her ankles. A gentle tug on her wrist pulls her close and he lightly places his free hand against the curve of her waist. He tries to control the twitch of his fingertips as they make contact with her exposed skin and takes a deep breath. She settles a hesitant hand on his shoulder as though she is not quite sure where to put it. And then they are moving.

He tries to lead her through the a few measures, but she stumbles a little over the steps and keeps glancing down at her feet. After the third time she treads on his toes Katara looks at him sheepishly.

"Sorry. I don't really know how to dance."

He can't hide his surprise. "You don't?"

"No. Not like this anyway. There was this one time during the war…" She shakes her head. "But that was different. It wasn't real dancing."

He feels guilty for suggesting it in the first place. "Look, we don't have to – "

"No, we don't _have_ to. I _want _to dance with you, Zuko. I just hope you'll forgive me for stepping on your feet."

"I don't mind." And strangely, he doesn't. In this moment, with her bright eyes trained on his and the electricity that seems to tingle down his limbs from the places where their bodies touch, she could grind his toes into dust and he would take it with a smile.

She keeps trying, and he can see her glancing around at the other couples to take note of the way they move. She may be a bending prodigy, and she may be doing decently for her first try, but her movements lack their usual grace and he can sense her frustration. Her palm starts to sweat in his. He almost opens his mouth to offer some reassurance, but she speaks first.

"Maybe if I just…" She seems to be reconsidering their position, figuring out a way to simplify the dance. She stands back a step and grips his upper arms; he has no choice but to put both hands on her waist. They try this for a few beats, holding each other at arm's length, but she seems to feel as awkward about it as he does. She shakes her head and steps closer once again.

Her body bumps into his and it seems as though she is always either a step ahead or behind. She was terrible at following him. It dawns on him and he almost laughs – that was _exactly_ the problem. _Of course_ she would never just assume he was in control. He leans in and whispers into her hair. "You're supposed to let me lead."

She jerks her head back to look at him. "Really? Why, because you're a man?"

He is taken aback. "Well, that's not what I meant, but – "

She clicks her tongue. "That's completely sexist. Dancing should be a cooperative effort."

He is about to defend himself against this accusation but before he can she edges closer to him and hooks her arms around his neck. For an instant he is thrown off guard; was she hugging him? But she continues to rock her body back and forth to the slow rhythm of the song, and after a beat he wraps his arms around her waist. She is right; now they move together, sharing the task.

She tilts her chin up to look him in the eyes and her face is so close that he finds he has to fight the sudden urge to lean in. Her eyes sparkle in the dim light of the plaza, and she offers him a soft smile. "There. Isn't that better?"

His voice comes out as a whisper. "Yes."

She pulls closer to him and they sway on the dance floor. To an outside observer it would look less like dancing and more like two people holding each other, gently moving to the music. Katara looks away from him and closes her eyes, laying her head on his chest. He hopes that she cannot detect the hammering of his heart as she snuggles closer. Or maybe he hopes that she does. If she doesn't already know the effect she has on him, he's beginning to think that he wants her to. He takes a deep breath and inhales the sweet scent of her hair. His own eyes fall closed and his arms tighten around her just a bit.

The spell breaks as the song comes to an end. The people in the plaza clap politely as the band pauses to retune their instruments. When they start up again the tempo is lively and unfamiliar. Zuko realizes that he and Katara remain still in a sea of movement and that she still hasn't removed her arms from around his neck.

She lifts her head from his chest and blinks slowly up at the fat moon that hangs above them. "It's getting late. Do you think it's time we went to bed?"

He knows that she could not possibly have meant it that way, but her choice of words conjures images of that Agni-forsaken scroll and he can feel his face start to heat. She seems to catch on and jumps back from him a step. "I meant that we should get some rest! After all, we still have a long walk back to the beach house..."

"Right! Of course. It's getting very late. What else would you have meant?" He laughs a little too forcefully.

"Exactly! And I know that you rise with the sun and all that, so you must be getting tired."

"Yes. Very tired. It's way past my bedtime. Not that I have a bedtime. I'm the Fire Lord. I can stay up as late as I want. In fact, if you want to stay, we can – "

"Nope! I think I'm ready to go. Let's head back." She rubs the back of her neck. "Is that okay?"

"Whatever you want." It comes out deeper than he meant it and the discomfort of the situation only increases. But she only catches his eyes and there's the slightest hint of that mischievous smile playing over her lips. He hesitantly offers his arm, not sure if she'll want to take it. He feels relieved when she does.

Together, they start off toward home.

* * *

A/N: It's not over yet, folks! Not when it's just getting good, right? Get your post-festival shenanigan fix ahead in the next chapter. But don't forget to click that little review button before you go. :)

PS: remember those middle school dances where everyone held each other at arm's length and it was the most uncomfortable and awkward situation ever? Like what it would look like if zombies danced together? Ugh. Me too.


	4. Slow Dancing - Part Three

Zuko and Katara weave their way through the dancers and set off toward the edge of town. On the way, Katara pulls him toward a vendor selling sweet pastries, announcing that they deserved a treat for later. While she is busy choosing what she wants he browses a nearby merchant's selection of teas. Zuko knows little about tea, but he purchases a small tin of the most expensive one on display. He knew a crafty old Dragon back in the capital who deserved a treat as well.

The soft lights and bustling activity of town fall away as they head down the path through the rocky hills that will lead them to the shoreline. The evening is balmy and thick, though the breeze rolling off of the ocean keeps them cool. The farther they get from town the quieter things become; the only sounds are the insects that sing in the tall grass and the crunch of gravel under their feet. While the silence on the way to town that afternoon had been unnerving, this silence feels entirely different, like this walk was something they had done a thousand times together and they felt comfortable enough to share the space without words.

When they reach the shore, Katara grins at him before tearing off her shoes and running gleefully out onto the beach, kicking sand up in her wake. He takes his time removing his own shoes and then follows after. He can hear her laughter from a distance as she approaches the tides. She tosses her sandals to the sand and pulls a thick stream of water to her command. It wraps around both of her arms and she spins, the water twirling skyward. A soft smile touches his lips and when he gets close enough he simply sits down in the sand to admire her. She runs through a series of forms; most he has seen and some he has not. All are graceful and captivating. When did he become so fascinated by waterbending? All he knows is that he cannot watch her and be indifferent; in this moment she is joy incarnate and she is breathtaking to behold.

When she emerges from the sea her long hair is dripping onto the sand and her red robes cling jealously to her curves. The full moon above casts a soft glow on her moist skin and the effect is altogether spellbinding. His breath hitches as she weaves her hands over her body, pulling the moisture from her skin and streaming it back to the sea.

She scans the beach and spots him, waving and jogging to where he sits. She plops down on the sand next to him, flushed and breathless. "Sorry, I couldn't resist. I love bending at night, especially with the sea. It just feels incredible."

"You looked incredible." His eyes pop and he tries to take it back. "I mean your bending! It was really incredible to watch."

Even in the dark he can detect her blush, and when she bites her lip and shifts her gaze shyly to the sand it takes all of his self-control not to reach out and touch her. She scoots a little closer to him so that she can nudge him with her elbow. "Thanks. You were pretty impressive yourself yesterday before I interrupted you."

He can feel heat in his face all the way to the tips of his ears. "Well, didn't you say I was a 'powerful bender'?"

"I did…" She looks thoughtful for a moment and then leans her shoulder against his, turning her eyes to the sky. "So which ones are they?"

"Which ones are what?"

"Orihime and Hikoboshi. The stars from your story."

"Oh." He tilts his head upward and scans the sky. When he spots them he leans against her shoulder and extends his arm. "Right there. See the three that come together at an angle? That's Orihime. And then the bright one surrounded by the smaller dim ones is Hikoboshi."

"Hmm." She scoots in the sand until her hip is flush with his and tries to align her gaze with his arm. She points up, but too far to the east. "Those there?"

He swallows and places a hand behind her so that he can lean closer still, her shoulder blade brushing against his chest. "A little farther to the left."

Her hand finds his knee and she angles her body further, so much so that her cheek almost brushes with his. The pointed edge of her mask bumps into his and she laughs softly. "It might be easier to see without these."

Instead of reaching for her own she twists and reaches behind his head with both hands, fingers working at the knots that hold his mask in place. After a beat he lifts his hands and returns the favor. His fingers tremble on the cords of her mask and at this rate he is certain that he will never get it off. It doesn't help that at this proximity he can feel her soft breath on his face and she is worrying her bottom lip between her teeth in concentration and she just smells so _good_. His hands fumble twice more before he feels the cords finally slip and fall away. He pulls the mask from her face just as she is finishing with his. He blinks as his vision expands and is filled with bright blue eyes. She sets his mask in the sand and reaches for him once more, tracing a finger along his forehead, brushing a stray piece of hair out of his eyes. Her eyes flick to his lips.

It would take no effort to close the distance between them, and in this moment there is nothing he wants more. He's even relatively certain that this is what she wants, too. His blood sings at the prospect.

And yet he can't.

He swallows and leans back a fraction, hating himself for being too much of a coward to follow through. He is the Fire Lord, for Agni's sake, he is used to having his way and getting what he wants. But commanding soldiers and issuing decrees was so much different than this; this was a negotiation, and he had to make sure that he got it right. There was far too much at risk if he was wrong.

Disappointment flashes across her face the instant he withdraws and immediately he knows that he has made the wrong choice. She twists back to face the tides and her eyes search the waves emptily. He silently curses and mentally scrambles for the best way to salvage the situation. After a quick prayer to the spirits he places a tentative hand on her knee.

"I have an idea."

She gives him a questioning look as he removes his hand and scoots behind her. He hooks one leg on either side of her hips and then pushes forward until she is enveloped. He slips an arm around her waist and pulls her back flush against his chest. His other arm extends past her shoulder so that it is aligned with her sight and he trains his finger on the stars. He speaks low into her ear and he can hear her breathing catch. "There. Do you see them now?"

She settles back against him and weaves her fingers with the ones he has at her waist. "Yes. They're beautiful."

He lowers his arm and lets it join the other around her waist. His chin nestles into the crook of her shoulder. For a long while the only sound is the hush of their breathing in tandem with the tides. He shuts his eyes and tries to memorize the way her body fits into his, the curve of her spine against his chest, the feel of her skin under his fingers. He sighs contentedly and thinks that he really should have bought Iroh more tea.

She leans forward, breaking contact and forcing his head from her shoulder. He loosens his grip on her waist and he can't shake the weight of the disappointment that is quickly settling into the spaces where her body once was. _This couldn't last forever, Zuzu, and you knew it. _Already he is bracing himself for the awkward walk home and preparing excuses for why he has to return to the Fire Nation ahead of schedule.

Which is why he is completely unprepared for when she half-turns in his lap and darts in, pressing impossibly light lips against the corner of his mouth. She lingers for only a heartbeat before withdrawing and sitting back. He blinks at her and she gives him a shy smile.

"Thanks, Zuko. For taking me to the festival. I had a really good time."

It takes him a moment to recover, and when he does it is not enough to produce anything remotely witty or charming. "Oh. I did too. It was… nice." Mentally he winces and resists the urge to run a palm over his face. _Nice? Really? Very suave, Zuzu. _

She edges away from him and pushes playfully at his chest. The teasing spark has returned to her eyes and it may be this more than anything else that finally sends him over the edge. "Nice? That's all you have to say? Come on, don't tell me you didn't at least have a little f – "

All of his discipline and self-control dissolve as his hand shoots up and closes around her wrist, yanking her forward so that he can cover her mouth with his own. His other hand finds her jaw, cradling her face in his long fingers. He is instantly torn between how right it feels and how wrong it was to act this impulsively. At his touch she inhales sharply through her nose and goes perfectly still. He squeezes his eyes shut and furrows his brow; he knows with absolute certainty that he has taken this too far and that he has ruined their evening completely. Anxiety bubbles in his gut as he anticipates her reaction, but he knows he has to face it no matter what it might be.

He sits back carefully and studies her, his muscles tensed and ready for whatever she might do. Her eyes remain closed and he watches as she slowly presses her lips together to moisten them. She slowly lets out the breath that she was holding before blinking open her eyes. Her expression betrays nothing.

Zuko blushes and ducks his head. "What I meant to say was that it was, um, really nice." He starts to fidget with his hands. "Look, I'm sorry, I don't know why –"

But he doesn't finish, because her hands have found his hair and she is already pulling him back in. Her kiss is like her bending, powerful and graceful and fluid. His eyes flutter closed as she twists in his lap, her lips never leaving his as she readjusts and straddles him there on the sand. The shift in position seems to ignite something within her; she squeezes the insides of her thighs against his hips and presses harder against his mouth. As always with her, he is never one to back down from a challenge; he rolls his hips and nips at her throat. The groan he earns in response is all the encouragement he needs to trail his mouth along her exposed collarbone and nibble on her ear.

Her hands push gently at his shoulders and he leans back, letting her settle her weight on top of him. Sand grinds into the hair at the back of his head; he feels his topknot start to come loose. He growls at the distraction and reaches up to tug the band loose, tossing it aside. She responds by running her fingers through the loose strands and sighing against his mouth.

When she dips her head to run her lips along his throat his hands tighten on her hips and he bites his lip. Her teeth graze his collarbone and his eyes blink open for just an instant, vaguely registering the dim light of the stars. He comes back to himself just enough to realize how surreal this moment really is; if he was surprised to be engaged in a bending battle with her yesterday, he is stunned to find himself on his back in the sand as her fingers work to untie the knots of his belt. He is discovering that she has a great talent for sweeping him off of his feet, both literally and figuratively. The way she keeps him on his toes and slightly off balance is exciting and new; he is eager to see just how many other surprises she has up her sleeve.

Until he remembers that all of this is temporary.

This is a fantasy, a brief and fleeting rendezvous that was never designed to last. It wouldn't be long before they went their separate ways. It should be impossible, with her body flush against his and her fingers ghosting up the skin of his ribs, but he finds that he misses her already. And not just this; he misses the banter and the teasing and the goading and all of it. All of _her_. He squeezes his eyes shut again and runs his hands up her back and brings her mouth back to his, kissing her fiercely. If their time together had to be brief, he would at least make it memorable.

He hooks an arm around her waist and flips her over in the sand. She squeaks in surprise and grins against his mouth. He pulls back for just an instant to admire her, the way her hair fans out beneath her and the intensity of her eyes. Her breathing is shallow and her skin is flushed. He can't believe how lucky his is. Then the corner of her mouth quirks up.

"So was that one of the tricks you've learned from reading those dirty scrolls?"

His eyes pop. "I've been trying to tell you all day that those scrolls weren't mine!"

Her fingers trace a line along his spine. "Oh? That's too bad."

"I just pulled them at random and – wait, did you say that's _too bad_?"

The look she gives him ignites the blood in his veins and spreads warmth from his scalp to the tips of his toes. Suddenly those illustrations didn't seem so embarrassing. He mimics the look and leans in close, his hair curtaining her face. "Who says I need any scrolls?"

She darts up and gently catches his bottom lip between her teeth. When she lets her head fall back to the sand the challenge is in her eyes once more. "Prove it."

His lips find her pulse and his fingertips trail along her ribs, grazing the sides of her breasts as he leaves lingering kisses along her sternum down to the flat planes of her stomach. The skin there is petal-soft and he brushes away the grains of sand that fall from his hair before he covers these spots with his mouth. She arches beneath him as his lips explore each patch of exposed skin. As her fingers curl into his hair he grins to himself, one palm groping for the knee that has hooked itself loosely around him, dragging his fingers in a slow ascent along the length of one long thigh.

And then suddenly her fingers stiffen in his hair and she stills. He immediately snatches his hands away, thinking he must have gone too far. He glances up at her and he can see her eyes scanning the sky. Her voice comes out as a whisper. "They're gone."

"What? Who's gone?"

She points. "The stars. They're gone."

He pushes himself into a kneeling position, allowing himself to settle a hand lightly on each of her legs. He cranes his neck and discovers that she is right; over the ocean the sky is black, though hazy stars and the ghost of a full moon are still visible in the direction of town.

Katara sits up. "Looks like it's going to rain."

He shrugs. "Maybe. Summer brings quick storms here in the Fire Nation. They can be intense, but they don't normally last very long."

A flash of light brings fleeting daylight to the waves far offshore. A muffled rumble follows after a few heartbeats. Katara hugs her arms. "We should head inside."

There is an uncharacteristic hesitancy in her voice. He doesn't understand her sudden shift in mood; she has caught him off balance once again but this time he isn't sure how to respond. He injects some levity into his voice, hoping to bring back her smile. "Afraid of a little rain, waterbender?"

She frowns at him. "Zuko, I'm serious. Let's g – "

Fingers of lightning split the air a few miles offshore. Katara visibly flinches. He reaches for her, curls his fingers around her shoulders. "Hey, what's wrong?"

She shakes her head as though she is clearing away unpleasant thoughts. She pulls his hand off of her shoulder and weaves her fingers with his. "Please. Let's just go, okay?"

"Okay." He eyes her carefully as he pulls them both to their feet. He dusts the sand from his clothes and quickly collects the stray objects strewn about the beach: their masks, their shoes, the band for his hair, Uncle's tea. He pauses to retie his belt. She waits for him with arms crossed over her chest, looking small and fragile, not at all like the Katara he knows so well. When she sees that he is ready she spins on her heel and beats a hasty retreat toward the beach house.

As they trudge up the road they can hear the distant sound of the rain as it pelts the sea, like thousands of ball bearings rolling down a tin roof. Katara picks up her pace and stands impatiently at the front door as he struggles to catch up.

Zuko ushers her inside and the doors shut behind them with a hollow bang. It is dark in the foyer except for a few lanterns burning low along the walls which do little to chase away the shadows. He tosses their belongings onto a table near the door. Above them, hurried footsteps creak on the floorboards of the second floor. A minute later a single staff member emerges at the top of the stairs, hastily shrugging on a robe and balancing a small flame that hovers over one open palm.

"My Lord! My apologies for not attending to you. The staff thought that perhaps you had decided to stay in town for the night." He reaches the bottom of the stairs and bows awkwardly, holding the flame out to one side. "How may I assist you?"

Zuko glances at Katara. She seems less tense than she was a few minutes ago, but her gaze is distant and fixed into the shadows of a nearby hallway. He hopes that it is too dark for the staff member to notice the tangles in her hair and the state of their clothing, but it seems that it would be impossible to miss. Suddenly the comment about the two of them staying the night in town seems much less innocent. Zuko remembers himself and squares his shoulders, though he barely restrains a grimace as grains of sand fall from some hidden fold in his clothing and softly patter against the wooden floor. He does his best to muster his most dignified voice.

"Two damp towels and a pot of ginseng."

"Right away, your highness."

The staff member scurries away, leaving them in the dim light of the foyer. Katara doesn't speak, doesn't move. She just keeps staring intently down the hall. Zuko brings down one of the lanterns from the wall near the door. The flames jump at the wave of his hand and he extends his arm, offering the lantern to her. "Is this better?"

"I'm not scared of the dark, Zuko." She says it like it is the most obvious thing in the world, but the truth is he has no idea what she needs. He takes a half step back.

"What it is then? What's wrong?"

The staff member reappears, carrying a tray bearing the items he requested. Zuko nods. "Take those to the sitting room."

He approaches Katara carefully, the way one might approach a wounded animal. He takes her gently by the elbow. "Come on, let's go sit down."

He leads her down the hall, one hand on her arm and the other carrying the lantern. When they arrive in the sitting room the tray has been left on a table for them and the lamps in the room have been lit. He adjusts the lighting and pulls the door shut. Katara sits down gently on the couch and reaches for the teapot. Her fingers shake just a little as she pours two cups. The cushion sinks under his weight when he sits down next to her.

Katara sits in silence and sips her tea. The atmosphere is tense and Zuko can't help but feel that somehow it is all his fault. He knows that if their positions were reversed, Katara would know just what to say or what to ask. She'd be prepared with a dozen statements designed to ease away any pain or discomfort and make things right. She is compassionate and kind, this sort of thing is second nature for her. But for Zuko, comforting others is a limited skill at best. But just because he wasn't good at it didn't mean he wouldn't try. His strength is in persistence; he never gives up without a fight. He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees and tries again.

"Tell me how to help you and I will. Whatever you need, it's yours. Just ask."

From the corner of his eye he can see her lips curve up ever so slightly. "I'll be okay. Sorry to freak out on you like that."

He wants to touch her but doesn't, not sure of how she'll react. "Is there anything you want?"

She shakes her head. "No, I'm fine." Her tone suggests otherwise. She takes another sip of tea but then wrinkles her nose in disgust. She swallows and probes the inside of her bottom lip with one finger. "Ugh, how did I manage to get sand in my _mouth_?"

He can't help but be wry. "I could venture a guess." This earns him a small laugh that causes hope to bloom in his chest. He reaches for one of the towels on the tray. "May I?"

She nods, eyes curious. He shifts off of the couch to kneel in front of her. He heats his hands just enough to warm the damp towel before applying it to the soles of her feet, brushing away the dried sand and rubbing off the dirt. Katara sighs and leans back, cradling her cup of tea in her palms. When he adds pressure to the balls of her feet as he scrubs her eyes drift closed and he can feel her relax under his ministrations.

"This reminds me of the time Toph and I visited a spa in the Upper Ring during the war. It was a real treat."

"Toph let someone touch her feet?"

She chuckles. "I wouldn't say she 'let' them. And they certainly regretted trying. I think she preferred the mud treatments. I liked the sauna best."

He winds the towel around her ankle. "You should move to the Fire Nation then. The entire country is a sauna."

She laughs. "You've got that right." She sighs as he massages the cloth into her calf. "You're pretty good at this. Was this part of your royal education?"

He tries to picture one of his old tutors teaching Azula how to give a pedicure and he almost laughs out loud. "No. But I've been on the receiving end of it enough to pick up a few things."

"I see. Another one of the perks of being of being Fire Lord?"

"You could say that. Though in exchange you have to be willing to put up with mountains of paperwork, childish politicians, and impossible budgets."

"Well, if you get tired of all that, with a little training you might just have a promising career as a masseuse." The look he gives her is long-suffering, but privately he feels just the slightest bit proud that he has brought her some relief. His motions become more deliberate; he puts more effort into doing a thorough job. He finishes with her right leg and moves to her left. When he rubs his thumbs against the arch of her foot she groans contentedly. She gives a long sigh of satisfaction, and under her breath, so soft that he knows he wasn't meant to hear it, she mutters: "Mai was a fool to give this up."

But he does hear it. His hands still and her eyes shoot open. She sits up, raising a hand to cover her gaping mouth. "I am _so_ sorry, Zuko. I didn't mean that. Really."

He holds her gaze for a tense moment, searching her eyes and deciding that she is sincere. As he considers her comment he isn't quite angry and he isn't quite sad, it's more of an odd constricting feeling that winds around his ribs. He turns his attention back to her ankle and resumes his work.

"I never did this for her."

He might not have thought about it if she hadn't said anything, but the idea of it ripples across his mind. It's such a little thing, such a small difference, but somehow it takes root and expands, leaving behind an empty space that collects all the little things that his life might have been lacking in the past three years. They add up to more than he thought they would.

In his peripheral vision he can see Katara deflate a little. "You don't have to do it for me, either."

His wrist manipulates the towel around her calf, keeping the motions chaste and moving only as far as her knee. "I know I don't. I want to." Satisfied with his work, he discards the soiled towel on the tray and reaches for the fresh one. "Give me your hand."

She hesitantly extends her right arm and he grasps her gently by the wrist, carefully wiping each of her fingers and rubbing small circles into her palms. She seems wary, as though she can't figure out why he hasn't stomped out of the room yet. It wasn't unfair; under other circumstances that might have indeed been his reaction. But touching her like this is surprisingly soothing, and right now soothing is what he needs. He feels emotionally unbalanced, teetering between hurt and desire, past and present. He wants to be angry at Katara but he isn't. He wants to comfort her, but he doesn't even know what set her off in the first place, which only ends up leaving him feeling incompetent and powerless. It's all a little overwhelming, so instead he focuses on the task at hand, methodically cleaning one patch of skin at a time.

After finishing with her hands he finds a clean spot on the towel and reaches for her face. He has only started brushing off the edge of her jaw when her fingers close around his wrist, forcing him to stop.

"Zuko, I have to tell you something."

Immediately he is on edge. The evening has already taken an emotionally uncomfortable turn and he isn't sure that he wants to hear whatever it is she is compelled to confess. The worry in her face only reinforces this. He narrows his eyes and lowers his hand. "What is it?"

She bites her lip. "Promise you won't be mad."

He eyes her warily. "I've already promised you quite a few things since you arrived, Katara."

The look in her eyes is pleading. "And you've followed through on each one. Just one more. Please."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Fine. I promise I won't be mad." Irate, maybe. Irritated, annoyed, exasperated, perhaps. But not mad. He braces himself and takes a calming breath.

She looks away guiltily. "I knew about you and Mai. That you had broken up."

He blinks. Of all things, this is not what he was expecting her to say. "You did?"

"Yes. Iroh writes to me regularly. He mentioned it in one of his letters."

"Did he now?" Crafty old Dragon, indeed. But Zuko is still puzzled. "I don't understand. Why would I be angry about that?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. It… might have had an impact on my excitement to come on this trip. But more than that, I just didn't want you to think I was being dishonest with you. It didn't feel right not to say something."

His own lies of omission blaze against the surface of his conscience. He sighs. "I suppose I have a confession as well."

Her eyebrows jump. "You do?"

It's his turn to look away. "I don't think the others are coming. I didn't even know _you_ were coming until you showed up in the courtyard. I think this entire trip might just be a product of my Uncle's weird sense of humor. I didn't tell you about my suspicions because I didn't want you to be disappointed that it was just us. I'm sorry."

She is quiet for a moment and he suddenly wishes that he had made her promise not to be angry as well. "Actually, I'm glad."

He blinks in surprise. "You are? I thought you wanted to see your – _our_ friends?"

She smiles. "I did. And I'm sure if they were here it would have been fun. But if they had been, it would have been so much different." She laughs. "Come on, do you really think Aang or Sokka would have just stood by while we rolled around on the beach?"

He pictures a glowing Avatar and a furious Sokka chasing him across the sand, wielding a staff and a boomerang respectively. He shudders. "Good point."

"Well, the main point is that I've enjoyed spending time just the two of us. It's been – how did you describe it? – really nice." She reaches out and cups her hand against his jaw, tracing a thumb against his cheek. Her expression is tender as she leans in, her lips gentle as they press against his.

Her arms come up around his shoulders as he kneels there in front of her. This kiss feels just as good as the others, though the tone is vastly different. The passion is present but subdued, replaced with something else, something sweet and vulnerable and soft.

Just as his fingers start to slip into her hair, thunder cracks against the walls of the beach house, startling them apart. The rumbling lingers for a few heartbeats before fading out, and it isn't long before they can hear fat raindrops pelting against the roof. Katara tenses under his touch at a flash of light which illuminates the windows that stretch along one wall.

None of this makes any sense. Perhaps he could understand wanting to avoid the storm when they were out in the open, but they were inside now. He frowns. "What's going on, Katara? It's just rain."

"It's not the rain. I love the rain." Her eyes find his and her hand reaches out, fingers splaying against his chest, just below his heart.

_Oh._

There are a few things he could say in response. His first instinct is to apologize. He could tell her that he was sorry for scaring her all those years ago and putting her in danger, that it was stupid of him to taunt his sister like that. His next impulse is to offer reassurance, to remind her that it was all a long time ago and that all of the lightning benders with the exception of his Uncle were either incapacitated or incarcerated and could never hurt anyone ever again. He could even tell her that he has perfected the redirection technique since then or joke that his family had tried to kill him with lightning on three separate occasions and none had ever been successful. But even he knows that all of these things would be missing the point entirely.

Another flash of light illuminates the room and she flinches. He covers the hand at his heart with his own. Tears gather in the corners of her eyes in response and she gives him a sad smile. The impact of her expression hits him harder than any lightning ever could, jolting him with insight. He had always known that she was grateful to him for saving her life just as he was grateful that she had saved his. He had known that Sozin's Comet was an emotional experience for everyone and that the final battle had left her frightened and shaken. He had tried to dismiss her concern, chalking it up to practicality: his loss would have meant the world would have been subjected to the reign of Fire Lord Azula, and after all of their hard work to restore balance he had almost ruined it for everyone with one dumb mistake. It never occurred to him back then – _especially_ back then – how much she _cared_. But as he looks at her now, he knows better. It wasn't about the fate of the world. It was about _him_. As he remembers the storm of emotion that had coursed through him as he broke his stance and dove for that bolt, he thinks he understands.

He rises from the floor and moves to the couch. He doesn't hesitate or ask permission, he simply seats himself beside her and pulls her into arms. This gesture seems to be her undoing; she buries her head in his shoulder and fists her fingers into his tunic. He can't be sure how long they remain this way, but eventually the storm outside and the one in his arms calm.

When she lifts her face to look at him, grains of sand from his shirt are stuck to the drying tracks of her tears. He runs a thumb across her cheek. "We really are a mess."

Her smile is a little broken, but he internally rejoices at its return nonetheless. She sniffs and sticks her nose in the air. "Well, maybe _you _are._ I_ had a personal cleansing session with the Fire Lord himself."

He returns her smile. "Oh? He sounds like quite the gentleman."

She shrugs, but her eyes shine with merriment and something else he can't quite define. "I suppose. He's really a pretty decent guy once you get to know him."

"Underneath all of the pomp and entitlement, you mean?"

Her smile expands. "Exactly. I wouldn't wear this to show my support if I didn't think so."

He glances down to the pin on her shoulder, the symbol of his house displayed against soft folds of crimson fabric and tan skin. Something sparks in the back of his mind, a half-formed and ridiculous notion that he dismisses but which makes him smile all the same. "It suits you."

"You think so?" A fit of yawning interrupts her smile. "Wow, I know I said it was late before, but now it's actually true. Ready for bed?"

He raises his eyebrow at her; those innuendos weren't as farfetched as they had been earlier that day.

She narrows her eyes and pokes a teasing finger into his chest. "Don't think for a second that I can't tell what's going through your mind right now, your highness. I meant that we should get some sleep. In our own rooms."

His laugh is genuine. "I knew what you meant. Come on, let's go."

They stand up and smooth out their clothes. As her hands brush over her hips they can hear the sound of crinkling parchment. Her eyes widen and she digs into her pocket, producing two wrinkled pieces of parchment on strings, the ones that they had purchased at the festival. Was it really only a few hours ago? It felt like a lifetime.

"Zuko! We forgot to write our wishes! Do you think it's too late?"

He shakes his head. "No. But we'd better do it tonight. It might not count if we wait until morning."

She threads her arm through his. "Okay. One more stop before bed then."

He extinguishes the lamps in the sitting room and leads her through the dark hallways, a fire in one palm. They detour to the study on the first floor and he rummages in the desk to find brushes and ink. When they are finished they make their way out to the courtyard.

The rain has ended, leaving the surface of everything glossy and slick and the air steaming despite the early hour. Once they are out in the open he gestures for her parchment.

She hesitates, clutching the string to her chest. "You aren't going to read it, are you?"

He rolls his eyes. "Not if you don't want me to. But I have to burn it so that it can reach the spirits."

She nods and hands it over. Despite his overwhelming curiosity he avoids looking at the characters she has printed and folds it into the palm of his hand along with his own wish. He takes a few steps back and then crouches into a bending stance, steadying his breath.

On a whim he decides to show her the basic ornamental bending that he knows. Just because she had asked earlier, he tells himself. Not because he wanted to impress her or anything.

He shakes his head. Who was he kidding? _Of course_ he wanted to impress her.

He tosses the folded parchment into the air and slides back on one foot, taking aim. He releases a controlled burst of flame from his fist followed by a shredding motion with his hands. He tries to create a star to represent the festival, but it's been so long since he's practiced this technique that it comes out all wrong. Only three of the five points materialize, forming an inverted triangle. As the flames curl up toward the stars the top points round out and the effect is something vaguely heart-shaped. Zuko steps back and stares at the puff of smoke left in the air feeling slightly mortified.

But Katara is delighted. She claps her hands in front of her chest and jogs the few steps toward him, pulling him into a hug.

"That was great! I've got to figure out a way to do that with waterbending!"

He settles against her and leans his face into her hair. "It wasn't supposed to… Never mind. I'm glad you liked it."

She pulls back and her eyes find his. "So, what did you wish for?"

He makes a show of looking offended. "You can't possibly expect me to tell you that when you wouldn't let me read yours!"

She laughs and leans in to peck him on his good cheek. "Fair enough. Now let's get some sleep!"

As they climb the stairs he thinks about the wish-burning tradition. It was silly, of course. Just because he wished he could spend more time with Katara after this vacation ended didn't mean that it would actually happen. He's never been that lucky, and the spirits have rarely granted his requests in the past. Besides, it was too big of a thing to ask for anyway. All he can do is ensure that he maximizes the time they had together for the next few days. He wonders what Katara wished for and hopes that, despite his own unluckiness, whatever she asked for would come true. With her arm draped around his waist and the prospect of what tomorrow might bring, the legend of the Star Festival itself escapes his awareness and he doesn't stop to consider the rain.

He escorts her to the guest suite and she kisses him goodnight before closing the door, leaving him to walk contentedly back to his own room. When he flops down onto his own bed he is sure that he can hear the twitter of birds outside his window and can detect the first light of dawn in his blood. He closes his eyes anyway, settling comfortably under his blankets. He reviews the events of the day and smiles to himself.

It was decided: Uncle Iroh was getting a whole crate of tea.

* * *

It is dark before he trudges up the road to his family's home, and his robes are saturated with rain. Those clouds turned out to be something after all. The staff is frantic when he opens the door, supplying him with towels and a hot cup of tea and voices full of concern. He shrugs them off, hems dripping across the polished wooden floors as he heads for the back of the house.

The wind howls and fat drops of rain pelt his face as he makes his way across the courtyard, climbs the slick stairs. When he reaches the trees he encounters an eerie relief from the storm; the foliage is thick enough to block out the worst of it though the shuddering leaves above do nothing to conceal the power of the wind. He lights a small fire in the palm of one hand and follows the path.

The fire casts a warm glow on the clearing. Though it has been sheltered from the majority of the rain, the wind has shaken the limbs of the nearby cherry trees and coated the ground with red and pink petals. Lightning flashes overhead, sparking his memory: her kiss, her skirt as it spun about her ankles on the dance floor, her laughter and fear and stubbornness. And her eyes. Always her eyes.

He kneels down and wipes away the few petals that have fallen onto the stone and gathers some nearby stray ones, ringing her in crimson. The moisture on his face when he finishes has nothing to do with the storm.

"You were always beautiful in red."

* * *

A/N – Whew! That was about ten times as long as I had anticipated! We clocked in at around 22,000 words for those three parts. This section is a short story unto itself! The power of Zutara always carries me away. Thanks for sticking with me, and I hope you enjoyed some fluffy!awkward!snarky!sexy! Zutara moments. If you finished reading these chapters and found yourself thinking 'wow, that felt very fast paced and about 150 different things happened' then I did my job. I wanted it to feel a little whirlwind-esque. Hopefully everything wove together coherently.

PS: The Tanabata festival is a real thing, and so is the legend behind it. I had a lot of fun researching and adapting it for this section.

Someday I just might write a sexy scene that is just sexy and is not preceded or followed by angst. Maybe. But then again, what is Zutara without a little emotional rollercoaster action, am I right? And speaking of emotional rollercoasters, the next chapter (which utilizes the prompt "unrequited") is almost complete! Stay tuned, and don't forget to let me know what you think!


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